Roughly 1100 years ago, there was a Persian astronomer with a keen eye for detail. He was gazing starward, awash in some sweet Persian golden bling, when he noticed what he deemed “a small star cloud”. Nowadays astronomers tend to have less than 38 wives, slaves are called assistants, and that small little cloud is known to house over a trillion stars. Andromeda; It’s the mother f**king kingpin of
the sky. While the average human will spend 45 hours a week, toiling behind a screen with the aim of making enough money to cover rent and the weekend’s double brandy and cokes, we bring the greatest astrological body outside of our solar system down to earth, and jettison it through speakers light years ahead of its time. With enough drink specials to make anyone a space traveller, and a guarantee that each week at least one extra terrestrial will operate a turntable, Andromeda is the central hub of a universe where the only thing that matters is a thundering bassline and dancefloor of happy people too good for this earth. So join us in an intergalactic supernova of psy. We do jam jars, fish bowls, oil tankers and Apollo 33s. We have more drink “specials” than a home full of alcoholic handicapped folk. We have the technological know-how of an ATM inside the club, so you can join us this Wednesday, and leave sometime in June. Basically if NASA held a trance party, we would have the launch codes. See you at Andromeda, where we make the Milky way look sh*t.
