Trinity Nightclub

Oh, Trinity. You haven of poor students and slovenly locals who can’t afford the £30 cab ride back from Birmingham. You offer a place for the Black Country youths and the ever-​chavy school-​drop outs from Tamworth Town Centre to rock up with their krew.
Tamworth is a town of 76,000 people in the heart of the West Midlands. It has one true nightclub, and it is called Trinity. It is as expected: very very homespun and a bit down-​at-​heel.
The carpets are worn thin and the décor is in desperate need of a revamp.
But the drinks are often only £1, and the entrance fee is easy to get around (join Trinity’s Facebook page, turn up at 11pm, etc).
The «clientele» is young. Very young. Though the bouncers (all 12 of them — why are there so many? has Trinity single-​clubbedly vowed to employ the unemployed of Tamworth?) fastidiously check IDs, the youths seem to start around 12 and age about a year by the end of the night.
Fighting is rife at Trinity — some misguided youth or chubbytastic chav chick are always willing to throw down witcha at Trinity. The bouncers are quick to intervene, and I suppose it’s not their fault that Tamworthians are ruffians.
Upstairs at Trinity you can listen to the newest hits, R & B stuff, clubland techno zombie crap, etc.
Downstairs is Trinity’s only saving grace, playing songs people still listen to when not drunk, lots of classics from the 60s through now. Getting your groove on downstairs is a lot friendlier and the crowd tends to be older than 15 (though significantly younger than 30, fret ye not).
If you’re a smoker, Trinity is not the club for you. They don’t let people out the front to smoke, and the smoking balcony is so small, one has to queue for up to 45 minutes on weekend nights to take a breath of fresh air.
It’s a good laugh, and if you’re with a crowd of mates who does not think the words club and classic belong together, and stay downstairs, you should manage avoid the hatas, and Stay Alive, ah ah ah.