I'M standing outside Viper at 2am and I'm surrounded by girls with accents that sound halfway between Bearsden and Berkeley, California.

A crowd of macho rugby boys are living up to the stereotype and unleashing epic lad banter on any wench (their word, not mine) they encounter.

They're not doing particularly well until one (particularly drunk) girl is taken in by their totally awesome bants and drags her friends into the patter black hole, and now there's no way they're getting away from them.

I feel a moment of sympathy for the naive, unfortunate lasses but it's short-lived as one starts screaming "Fleeeuuurrrr come back here nowww!" in a voice that sounds like nails down a chalkboard.

My taxi texts to say it has arrived but it's nowhere to be seen.

I thought I'd left all of this behind when I graduated, but here I am.

The lure of Viper, Great Western Road's late-licensed student magnet, is simple.

Cheap drinks allied with a rowdy, sports society-heavy crowd mean that it's packed most nights, a soundtrack of bleeding-edge pop house filling the tiny dancefloor until closing time.

It's possible to be the oldest person in the room at 22, especially on Mondays, when the long-running Heat packs them in.

If you can put up with the grating West End accents and endless procession of testosterone-fuelled lads you'll have a great time.

And while I didn't witness any specifically sexist incidents, the whole meat market vibe feels like it's just one wardrobe malfunction away from descending into a full-on riot.

Still, awesome banter though mate, yeah?