Coyote Ugly Saloon

78 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]

So, here we are outside Coyote Ugly (formerly The Square about a million years ago) on an otherwise unremarkable Saturday afternoon, somewhat alarmed by the convoluted velvet rope/steel barrier walkway you have to negotiate to even make it to the door.

Not to mention the extravagantly lopsided ratio of security personnel (three) to punters in queue (zero). Maybe they're expecting trouble. Well, The Photographer has got a thirst on.

Before you make it into the primary room, there's this little side bar. We can only approve of the sort of place that enables you to get a drink on your way to getting a drink.

Well, this is awkward. There we are trying to peer at the medley of booze on offer behind the main bar and next thing you know there's a woman clad in cowboy boots and fishnet tights cavorting about right on top of the bloody counter.

This, we later learn, is *a thing* round these parts, but it doesn't half make you worry about getting your pint kicked over.

Heaven forbid you go here in a mixed group. Instead, the unwritten rule seems to be: men on one side, women on the other. Making the whole enterprise akin to a liquor-powered school disco. Just with worse music.

Oh god, the music. Did we mention the music? It's less aural pleasure, more psychological warfare – the sort of soundtrack that would have made you sympathise with Manuel Noriega.

The torture is compounded by the fact that the cheerleaders sashaying on the bar – mind that pint! – are prone to start caterwauling along at any given moment.

Still, anywhere that's got a bucking bronco is fine by us.