WERE you lucky enough to come of age in the greatest ever decade for nightlife, the 1980s? Here are the rules you followed.
Shirt, chinos, no trainers
Nightclub bouncers watched Miami Vice, agreed it was the height of sartorial elegance and anyone dressed like that could afford infinite rum and cokes, and imposed the same dress code on a generation of teenage boys. Pink shirt, tan chinos, slip-on loafers with little gold chains on.
Ra-ra skirts, puffball skirts, so much f**king hairspray
Teenage girls, similarly trying to get into clubs while five years underage, cycled through a range of nonsensical never-revived fashion choices like cheerleader skirts, satin polka dot puffball skirts, and their dad’s blazer over a minidress, all anchored with a helmet of rock-solid highly flammable hair.
An hour’s queue
All the pubs – no exceptions – kicked out at 11pm. So all nightclubs – one per town – had queues outside from 10.30pm that took an hour to get to the front of. You were queuing and sobering up for an hour to get inside for a maximum of two hours, then got sent away for wearing casual shoes and because the girls you were with were obviously underage.
Lager was as new and exciting as cashpoints in the 1980s and yuppies drank it in adverts. Consequently every lad out there couldn’t wait to get a cool sharp Harp down them even though it tasted like fizzy piss. It was either that or Newcastle Brown.
Everybody smoked in the pubs, but nightclubs were that bit more grown-up so everybody smoked even more. There was a blue haze like a layer of milk a foot above everyone’s heads at all points, and by the end of the evening your eyes were streaming and you stank.
The wedding DJ who’s been playing the same set, made up of songs he personally likes and he doesn’t give a f**k if you don’t, was every nightclub DJ in the 80s. He talked over every track and his set climaxed with Black Lace’s I Am The Music Man, which includes the Dambusters theme, Match of the Day and Here We Go and triggers a near-riot.