Moving on from talking about the demise of one great Bath institution, the Manvers Street Police Station, I found this really inneresting article in a recent copy of the Evening Chronicle celebrating the history of the City's nightclub scene over the years.
The nightclubs of Bath
As a keen Saturday night hoofer myself, I'm familiar with all these venues in their Boogie Wonderland 80's glory
There was Neros where female revellers would be greeted on the door by Benny, the very portly Polish owner, with a wet, slobbery kiss, Tiffanys (gents in collars and ties only) and Acacia Avenue.
But more firmly lodged in the memory is the Island Club, otherwise known as "Bog Island" owing to its previous incarnation as an underground public convenience.
One would enter the club by descending a spiral staircase onto the dance floor and there would be Bath's very own disco boy direct from the ruins of Studio 54 - all decked out in white; White denim jacket, white jeans and he'd always be wearing a single, white glove on one hand.
There he would be - really grooving out and getting into the music all on his own, oblivious to the bemused expressions on the faces of the people at the bar observing his routine.
In fact, he'd always have that expression on his face that people always have when they're really getting into the music. You know the one, pursed lips and screwed up eyes, his head bobbing up and down, snapping his fingers in time to the beat.
♫ Brothers, sisters, we don't need that fascist groove thang ♫
Yet it is fair to say that the passage of time has changed my perception of him from being a bit of a poseur to that of a free spirit devoid of any self conscious inhibitions.
In fact, from reading that article, I'd say that those were genuinely more carefree times where we'd put on our glad rags of a Saturday night and let it all hang out free from all the worries that saddle the incumbent disco going generation.
Yes, I know this is probably me looking back with rose tinted spectacles but I loved the 80s.
The nightclubs of Bath
As a keen Saturday night hoofer myself, I'm familiar with all these venues in their Boogie Wonderland 80's glory
There was Neros where female revellers would be greeted on the door by Benny, the very portly Polish owner, with a wet, slobbery kiss, Tiffanys (gents in collars and ties only) and Acacia Avenue.
But more firmly lodged in the memory is the Island Club, otherwise known as "Bog Island" owing to its previous incarnation as an underground public convenience.
One would enter the club by descending a spiral staircase onto the dance floor and there would be Bath's very own disco boy direct from the ruins of Studio 54 - all decked out in white; White denim jacket, white jeans and he'd always be wearing a single, white glove on one hand.
There he would be - really grooving out and getting into the music all on his own, oblivious to the bemused expressions on the faces of the people at the bar observing his routine.
In fact, he'd always have that expression on his face that people always have when they're really getting into the music. You know the one, pursed lips and screwed up eyes, his head bobbing up and down, snapping his fingers in time to the beat.
♫ Brothers, sisters, we don't need that fascist groove thang ♫
Yet it is fair to say that the passage of time has changed my perception of him from being a bit of a poseur to that of a free spirit devoid of any self conscious inhibitions.
In fact, from reading that article, I'd say that those were genuinely more carefree times where we'd put on our glad rags of a Saturday night and let it all hang out free from all the worries that saddle the incumbent disco going generation.
Yes, I know this is probably me looking back with rose tinted spectacles but I loved the 80s.
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