Banish all images of Brad Pitt in shining armour, the only thing shining in this bar will be your face; it’s a sweatbox, but one we want in on. Get past the bouncer, (which shouldn’t be too tricky if the crowd’s anything to go by), head along the postered corridor and wing a right down the stairs. You’ll find yourself in Spain, or Mexico, or somewhere other than Soho, even the climate’s hotter.

The bar’s in front of you so go and introduce yourself. We kept it simple with G&Ts (having said that we’re not sure they do anything more complicated so maybe stick to a beer). Drinks sorted? It’s time to get involved with intense and sweaty salsa on the dancefloor, sexual. There are three amigos perched on some sort of stage decorated in Spanish dresses and flowers getting the crowd going. Not up for dancing? Grab a table at the front and get people watching, one bald guy in Jesus sandals looked like he was snake charming and one girl looked like she had ants in her pants, but as a unit the crowd were on fire, BarChick joined in so do it.

All danced out? There’s a chilled bar upstairs. The vibe is old school rock and you’ll see pictures of your old friends on the walls (if like BarChick’s Dad you hung with Morrison and Cash). The order is shots, presumably you can add mixers, but we kept it straight for simplicity’s sake, oh and don’t be fooled by the beer taps, they’re dry, but no one’s complaining.