Faces

I don't actually own a copy, so I couldn't tell you on which mage of the PFA players handbook it states that upon visiting Nottingham all professional footballers must converge in Faces nightclub, but it's definitely in there. Personally, I wouldn't show my arse in here, never mind my face, but that probably comes as a relief to all concerned. However if you're over thirty and under the influence of alcohol then this is the club for you. With a certain amount more sophistication that the corporate cattle markets, Faces attracts the kind of people with more cash to splash than the aftershave, and that's saying something. Somewhat life–affirmingly, it also goes to show that, plied with enough rum and coke, repectable middle class people are just as capable of making tools of themselves as the rest of us.

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