Grand Victorian Hotel (Worthing)

Captain Caveman

“Aaaaahhhhhh, ooooooooohhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, ooooooooooooooohaaaaaaaa aaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh woooarrrrer  rrrrrrrrrrrrr, aaaaaaaaaaaaaah
…saaaaaaaaaarrr rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhh hhhhhhh.. blloo ooooooooooooo ooooooooa rrr rrrrrrrrrga hhhhhhhhhhh…..wrooooahh hhhhhhhhhhhhh….

Ha ha ha

gnrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….. Cnnnnutttt…. CAPTAIN CAAAAAAVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEMAAAAAAAAAAAN”

(translation follows)

Whether it be night or seal, I’m a (sort-of) man who just loves to club. Prey is prey, as far as I’m concerned and just so as to avoid confusion I should clarify; what I’m referring to ain’t no Sunday school kneel-down!

Another point of clarity: when it comes to ‘clubbing’, this troglodyte is not going to be tied down to conventions like the weekend.

Yeh, it may be Tuesday evening, or as my irritating pal Flintstone would say ‘a school night’, but I’m going to club anyway. “Ooh, you can’t go a-boozing and a-murdering tonight Cavey,” says he pathetically. “What about that wheel design we were working on. There’s a presentation to the board tomorrow morning.”

Bollocks to that; that’s my response!

Enough about him anyway, onto my review. See, I live in Barnham on the south coast with lots of other cave dwellers. Tonight I’m going clubbing in Brighton, but I’ve stopped off in Worthing for a few solos en route. The Grand Victorian may be a hotel, but it’s also got a vast bar to explore.

Now prepare for a revelation. Station pubs don’t exactly have a reputation for being worth more than a piss in, let’s be honest. But this one is a shining exception.

For starters it has a character interior, replete with regency pillars and red upholstery all round (always a good sign I think). Cheap and plentiful lager too and attentive bar staff too boot. And - for a (sort-of) man like me its piece de resistance: a club right next door.

Not one for tonight, but I’m deffo going to check that out next time I’m here.

Still not sold? Well try this you cynical clothes-wearers. How about a decent pub game. Never mind Jenga and all the other crap you’ll find in some poncey middle class joint; this is one strictly for the low lifes. I invented it and it’s called Human or Neanderthal? It’s a simple concept, just really difficult to play. All you need is a bit of paper with two columns headed human and Neanderthal; then do a bit of detective work on those hanging around the bar.

Ha ha ha.

Take the bird who accosted me after I came back from the bogs (dripping wet floors but hey ho). Her arms and legs looked like they’d been decorated by a cave painter, but she wore clothes. I would’ve kept staring at her (I stared at her for a long time through my hair) but a bloke with a forehead bigger than mine started giving me the evils. He was definitely a Neanderthal!

Anyway, if I can’t find anything of interest in Brighton I might take a swerve back here later. If she’s still around and her boyfriend’s not I’ll club her …. not that I’d be able to drag her anywhere; her hair was only about an inch long.

Thanks for reading.

Captain Caveman (Mr)

Caveman's rating for the Grand Victorian Hotel bar - 9 / 10

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  “,….. Why didn’t they live to be 100?Huh? Well, they woz running round all day, hunting mammoths, eating berries,..rumping their little hearts out. No boozing or smoking. They must have been fit as fiddles. Yer Neanderthalls……….I’ll tell you why, it’s … Continue reading →