Aimed and enforced at the over-21s courtesy of a door policy that keeps anyone who doesn’t look like they just stepped out of a black BMW out in the cold, Martini is decorated in red PVC, comes with the kind of dance floor designed for girls to dance around their handbags on, and is, in a nutshell, bling. The programme varies from DJs designed to make your grandmother weep to live cabaret acts hired for more or less the same purpose. A gangster rap atmosphere without the rap.
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Avoidable Greek restaurant by day, yet another bizarre club by night, Pegasus is, thankfully like its namesake from Greek mythology, mortal. Pegasus (the accent is on the second syllable if you need to ask somebody how to get there) doesn’t have anything special to offer beyond the classic small town mix of pop music, squeaky girls and large, bald-headed men. Hours of fun just so long as you remember to leave your sophisticated, big city ideas in the hotel.
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