Saturday, October 02, 2004

Club 2000

Back to the Middle Ages anyone? No... How about a Ritzy nightclub in a provincial English town circa 1989? No... (throws time machine with just the two settings in the trashcan)

Well, as part of the 2004 Quest for Experience (and damn the expense or consequence), I last night ventured back in time by heading to an out-of-city-centre nitespot called Club 2000 in Spawell, Templeogue.

The invitation was extended to me by yet another Woman from the Internet, so I abandoned my current activities (lying in bed in underpants, reading The Guardian and The Independent), dressed once more, and headed off.

The taxi driver was from Malahide, and he gave a wonderfully oblique description of what turned out to be a credit card. "It's small and they come through the post... out in the country, you rarely see one... i used one once, but there was a mistake... i don't know if they're legal here..." For the first 10 minutes i thought he was describing a mail-order wife.

I made my entrance to the sounds of Tiffany's global pop smash "I think we're alone now" and there they were, the rythmically challenged, jerking wooden men, timeless in their short sleeved shirts and jeans, performing their embarrassing moves on a basic dancefloor.

My date had such large breasts that they kept me almost at arm's length. The plus was that they kept brushing me as we played upon the threads of disputation. This was mostly shouting hello and trying to introduce me to someone who after about a week of pointless shouting she spelled out on her mobile as "Janet"

I drank some beer and then on came slow songs. Janet exhorted me to go dance with big-breasts, so I did. I don't know if I've ever smooched to a slow song at the end of the night in a tatty nightclub, but I have to say, I'd recommend it! We held each other tight and moved in slow circles, the wonderful shared glow passing through the eyes-closed dancers that they had achieved their basic goal of acquiring someone of the opposite sex who was 1) still able to stand, and 2) had lips

I was told off for not moving enough. Will Young sang, I moved a little more.

Another hour and we fetched up in a leisureplex in the middle of industrial units and car showrooms, sitting at a table and waiting for some fast food to arrive (took about 45 minutes for a sad burger and some weeping fries to manifest), swapping life details, and laughing at a man in a largely pinkish shirt with thin brown and green vertical stripes and his girlfriend, a knobbly kneed, pale legged affair, in a pair of knee high red cowboy boots.

"She washed his shirt with da boots"


I cocked up the taxi rides home, and who knows, maybe i missed out on a chance to add the further experience of you know, body rubbing, etc, activities. But, of course, I'm over the sea and not every girl you kiss in a nightclub and ride home with is such a sure thing here. Don't know if this is good or bad. Actually, it's irrelevant to my lifestyle, as I don't really go to nightclubs or smooch. This was research.

I tidied my room and resumed reading the newspapers. It was 5:30 a.m., and the night hadn't been a complete waste.


Post a Comment

<< Home