And so the reply....
Apologies that this took a while to post up- but if you care to read a good example of how NOT to run your customer care department read on….
I felt by the end of this exasperated email, that rather than apologise, they thought it was better I didn’t come at all, as if I should know that this is how the Sugarhut is run, and furthermore be grateful and put up with it..
Dear Ms. Miller
Your blog was indeed brought to our attention and our response, which we were about to post, is below.
I was rather flattered by this- and slightly disappointed- would have been much more fun if they have actually had the balls to post this online rather than back out an email it over…
We were very disappointed to read your blog Melody and, taking into account all your criticisms, wonder what made you want to visit to Sugar Hut. You were clearly aware that the club would be very busy, yet you queued “in the cold” for an hour to get in and stayed long enough to sample all the different areas.
Oh no, Sugarhut is disappointed in me- Thie paragraph suggests that I should of known better, that I should have given up before I got to the door and I’m the silly one for even entering and trying to find a space to breathe in all the different areas. Silly me.
“Go to the Sugar hut, Essex’s greatest tourist attraction! But do so at your own peril, because we don’t actually care if you do come along, and really we secretly laughing at all you silly customers that que in the cold, actually que, and then stay…..”
As regards the points you raise:
Thank you for bringing the confusion as to entry price to our attention and this is being addressed. We will happily send you a £5 refund if you let us know your address, although you did have the option to walk away on the night if you felt you were being “robbed”.
Is it me or is there a hint of sarcasm there? And lets be honest, its not a ‘confusion’- (MASSIVE air quotes please.) Unless the girl on the door can’t tell the time (a serious possibility) then there’s no confusion, someone knew they were making a hefty profit. Its very kind of her to offer to post me my fiver, but what about the rest of the group? Or the hundreds of people in front of me?
We operate a zero tolerance policy on drugs and make no apologies for conducting searches before entry.
Yep, because that was my problem here- that I wasn’t allowed drugs on the premises.
We have received no complaints from our regular customers (yes we do have them) regarding the increase of visitors and the club’s capacity is 1,000 and not 2,000 as you erroneously state.
Again with the sarcasm, (but bravo on the big word) and I think if it she had read my blog correctly , she'd see that I was pointing out I had been a regular customer.
The licensing laws state that plastic glasses are used throughout the venue and we must adhere to this rule.
Then it's probably not a good idea to advertise yourselves as a ‘West End Experience’ then because if its the Law you're worried about, then I’m pretty sure you're breaking advertising laws in thre somewhere.
Michael Norcross is a successful businessman and has reached where he is today by hard work and being involved in every aspect of his ventures. He has always been present at the club to ensure that guests are happy and things are running smoothly, although his profile has undeniably been raised by “The Only Way Is Essex” and he is now recognised.
Oooh its Michael now is it, forgive me. Being involved in every aspect of a nightclub involves tasks that I sincerely sympathise with, watching him smooze with legs blondes right left and centre. Hard work indeed.
To reiterate, we are sorry you didn’t enjoy your evening with us but can assure you that our regular clientele is enjoying the company of the wide variety of visitors from all over the UK and, thankfully, opinions such as yours are rare.
Regards
Karen Rogers
PA to Michael J. Norcross
MIAOW!!
I was perhaps a tad optimistic to think that this woman would have offered some sort of conciliation to our group, invite us back again to prove we were wrong about all the above. But by making it quite clear that I am wrong, that it doesn’t even matter anyway because they have enough other clients, just proves my point. Who cares if you provide lousy service, overcharge, when the tills are bulging? Because she’s right- those doors have ques outside all weekend- they don’t need the little minions because the name is big enough that presently it feeds itself.
The Sunday Express funnyily enough ran a piece that following week saying the exact same thing with a slightly more bemused tone- that Sugar Hut is a tourist attraction- not a West end experience nightclub.
So lets agree to disagree Karen, my opinion is definitely not as rare as you think, but while the doors are jammed full of orange wannabes, enjoy- but all cheap tourist attractions loose their sparkle when the novelty has worn off, and what used to be- dare I say it- a classy place to spend an evening, will very soon become a joke without the show to prop it up. Lets hope they makes a series three eh Micky…
Oh, and Karen, you can post that fiver back to me.
Yours sincerely,
Melodys Pen
Follow me on twitter- https://twitter.com/melodys_pen
It’s not Panto season right? I don’t see D-list celebs prancing around being fairy godmothers and what-not? But make the mistake of stepping into the vajazzled world of Brentwood’s Sugar Hut and you’ll find yourself trapped in a groundhog day of cringe-worthy shenanigans…
The queue for entry is an hour. An hour. By the time you’ve sobered up and got through the door after a scrupulous drug search, £15 is taken from you for the pleasure of your company.
“15 quid?” I say to the girl on the door, “It better be worth it.”
“Oh ma gawd yer, like totally. It ‘s completely ramo-ed in there.” She promises.
Gee thanks, after standing in the cold and being robbed I feel so much better knowing I have the pleasure of being elbowed and rubbed up against once I get through the door.
Every corner was jammed, which of course is great for the Sugarhut’s pockets, but not so great for the mood of the place, stripping the venue of any atmosphere and securing its status as a tourist attraction. It’s not a club but a visitation site along the map of Essex. What happens to the customers that came here before the show? They get trampled on by 2,000 tangoed girls with eyelashes so thick and heavy their eyes are held open only by the force of the Redbull in the jaggerbombs coursing through their veins. It’s a live panto version of the ‘Only Way is Essex’ where the truck loads of ‘Geordie Shore’ hopefuls have taken the cameo roles.
A TV screen flashes with images of people having an amazing time while the barmaid chews gum and serves me wine in plastic glasses, having waited in line in another queue for 20 minutes.
“As seen on TV” the screen boasts, “Beautiful people everynight of the week, the West End experience in Essex.”
West End? You’ve just served me my drinks in PLASTIC glasses mate. The only thing West End about this debacle is the prices. I look around for the beautiful people…
Look, it’s a nightclub, I’m not going to be snooty at the disheveled state of the clientele, regardless even of their substance of choice. I've spent enough time in bars and clubs to know that everyone falls over in their beautiful shoes at some point in their lives, it’s a law of gravity- but this slapstick-style scene was in a league of it’s own, a league devoid of any gravitational laws or common sense. I had never seen so many girls that couldn't walk in their shoes; there certainly was not a pair of ballet pumps in sight. Vajazzled girls staggered everywhere, more than several taking a serious tumble during the evening. But hay, that’s all in jest, it just adds to the comedy in this particular scene. It’s what Mollie from the Saturday’s is to Sienna Miller; a poor man’s version of a good thing, something that looks pretty similar but hasn't quite got the edge. Or the class.
Of course it’s important to note that when the original product is a tongue-in-cheek look at the life of Essex-landers, the copy version is never going to be a pretty sight, but this was something else. One guy is so off his face as he rolls around the sofa in his expensive ‘booth’ area he passes over the magnum of grey goose vodka to us standing next to him, jaw clicking. I’m not queuing another 30 minutes for a drink while everybody’s fake tan wipes on over my dress. We take a glug or two each of the massive bottle before someone notices their wasted mate’s generosity and takes the bottle back- they’re not going to share it with the commoners that haven’t spend a grand for a table…
Needless to say, unless you've got a table or smooched your way into the VIP area there was no room at all. You couldn't dance in the main dance room, you couldn't get near the bar in either the downstairs room or the RnB room, nor get near the toilets; girls opting to ambush the male bathroom much to their amusement.
(Not to mention the fact that the female toilets were blocked- staff members seen arguing over who was to unblock them.)
Drinks were spilled, feet were stepped on and the place generally resembled an over-dressed mosh-pitt. Credit to the DJ where credit is due, the music was only thing saving my sanity, but although definitely to my taste of dance and rave with excellently executed remixes, it didn't quite fit the ‘West-end’ shape-makers that were suited and booted as if for a day a the races.
The star of ‘Carry on Essex’ is surely Micky Norcross who battled his way through crowds having his photo taken, arriving amid a few ‘whoops’, three girls younger than his son in tow.
Although undeniably devoid of charisma in the ‘BAFTA award winning show,’ this is a very clever man. I won’t claim to know the ins and outs of how out of all the venues filmed Sugar Hut is by far the most plugged in the series, but it certainly is food for thought. For example the infamous proposal of Mark Wright and Lauren Goodger took place in the garden of the lovely Switch bar in South Woodford but is constantly quoted in magazines as having taken place in the Sugar Hut. In fact of the numerous scenes filmed there, producers never showed the front shot, letting Sugar Hut take the publicity.
It’s a plug that the Norcross’s have used to their advantage- turning the Brentwood club into a tourist attraction sees the que spilling out on to Brentwood high street, a sight that definitely didn't occur before the ITV2 show’s success, nor the infamous fire that saw the venue gutted and re-vamped.
I discover the next day that we and numerous others were over-charged; having clearly advertised their prices online and over the phone as £10 before 11pm, £15 after, this was not the case at the door.
Having waited in line from 9.30 and being in the main door just after 10.30pm, it clearly wasn’t after 11pm and yet everyone was charged £15? So where’s all that extra money going?
I find myself in a slanging match with the Sugarhut via twitter the following morning, where I’m assured that all the money taken from the door goes into the till at the front. This is offered as a consolation when I asked them if they were aware that their FOH staff were overcharging sugar-hungry customers, but really, it all goes in Norcross’s pockets so why this is supposed to make it better I don’t know. I‘m offered no explanation, no offer of a refund and told “We’re sorry you didn’t enjoy your evening.”
With guest list apparently not being an option (at least not for us ‘nobodies’) on a Saturday night, high prices, queuing for the toilets and the bar, I thank my lucky stars that we didn't have to queue for the exit.
It’s a genuine shame. It’s a beautiful club, well decorated, well put together, the open courtyard and restaurant giving it an edge against competitors and I've had some great nights out here, but the Sugar Hut Group have exploited the cheap instant fame which is certainly filling the tills now, but I cant help but think Micky is going to loose out in the long run. By turning his club into a novelty, people won’t go there twice- they’re going to visit a film set, (a hot sweaty overpriced film set.) It’s an experience, not a good night out- and when the novelty of cheap fame wears off, then what? Locals and regulars have been forced out the door by troops of wannabes, a good Essex night out having turned into a parody of its worst stereotype, leaving me and many others sober and out of pocket by the end of the evening.
Conclusion: A place for high rollers willing to splash out for space and service, or a ‘one night stand’ for tourists on tour. No room for regulars any more. No space for Essex.
Micky blue eyes, you’re welcome to prove me wrong.
And so the reply....
