Its here at last. The week's large night. 8pm. Time for a big one, a massive spurt of body abuse, a journey into the land of dance and of drink and most of all of dreams. This is where I put behind me the mundanities and annoyances of the last few days. Where I jump on that ship that's heading for an urban, nocturnal, subterranean land that I visit at about this time every week. I'm fired up for it. Totally wired. On the way and pulsing. Bang bang bang.

There’s nothing like a new Fred Perry to bring on a smile as wide as Trent Bridge - and tonight I’m going for a navy blue slim fitting piece de resistance. Just purchased today. Then its the strides. Sta prest. Has to be. Nice and snug and a perfect brilliant white. All finished off with a Lennon cap on top of my number-two short back and sides. Just right. I can’t fault it, even though I say so myself. Know what I mean. I splash some aftershave liberally over my newly shaved jaw and pull on my boots. Then its my wallet, filled today and ready for emptying over the next 48 hours. Here we go.

Out of the door and jumping down the flights of stairs. One after another. From my third floor bedsit to street level, I descend the staircases of this old Victorian mansion, this formerly glamorous, now sad old tart of a property. It may have seen better days but it doesn't matter too much to me. Its four walls and a roof over my head and for what I want you couldn't wish for much else, you know. As long as I've got somewhere to crash out and eat and wash then I'm happy.

But so much for that bull. I'm out on the street now - Lenton Boulevard - and starting the night as I mean to continue it. I'm heading off for a quick pint, just the one for the moment, corner bar where I come sometimes. I head for the door and push it open and go over to the bar where I'm served with a bottle and I sit down by the window, watching the world go by. There are quite a few in here already. Small groups of people sitting at tables listening to the beat of the music which is quiet for the moment but bound to get louder soon. I sip my beer, letting the sweet cold liquid wash inside my mouth. I put down the bottle and take a Bensons from its packet. I light the fag, inhaling it deep and blowing it out into the air. The music keeps on, a sensuous rhythm which will be the soundtrack of my night. I pull on my fag and sip my beer. Its brilliant. You know, so much that before I know it, I've drunk the lot and in need of it being replenished. But I've no time for that now. I need to get moving and off. Away. Into town and on the conveyor belt to a party. I get up and step out onto the street, into the bright light of a Spring evening, and stick my hand out for a passing taxi which stops and lets me in. I tell him where I want to go and we're off, towards town. There's a window half open and a light breeze is blowing in. It feels good.

We’re playing follow the leader. Joey’s striding on ahead of us. We’re into the crack, up for it big time.

"C'mon ", he yells, standing in the middle of the road. Hurry up. You’re wasting valuable drinking time".

He waves his arms, gesturing to us to move faster, oblivious to everything around him. He almost notices too late as a black BMW races past, a hairs breadth from the side of his leg.

He yells at the driver, aiming a kick at the car and missing by a mile. The driver sticks two fingers up at him and turns into Market Street. "I'd go after him", yells Joey. "But there are things to do".

I laugh. I’ve seen it all before. I know Joey only too well - the shaven headed self proclaimed leader of the pack. We’ve followed him all over the place - to Leicester, to Derby, to Lincoln. Always drinking, always shouting, always ready to get out of order. And tonight’s no exception.
We’re on our way to a gig, taking in the odd watering hole or two as we go. Our DJ mate, Simon, is undertaking his first public outing behind the decks and the rest of us are going along to show our support. We head off across Market Square and I pull on a cigarette as we go. We weave our way through the crowds who are standing around talking, shouting or bevvying outside the plethora of bars that have sprung up over the last few years. Its changed a lot since I first came here. Urban renewal and café culture have added a cosmopolitan flavour that wasn’t around in the old cloth-cap days.

In a few moments, we’re striding purposefully down one of the winding passageways that come off the Square. There’s a neon light shining across the narrow street. I blow the last smoke ring from my cigarette into the sky and toss the stub in front of me, volleying it as it comes down to land, powerfully and precisely towards the gutter. It falls in front of me, a couple of sparks jumping off it. I finish the job with a size eight Lonsdale trainer which destroys the final remnants of the filter tip with merciless precision.

"Jus' hurry up ", yells Joey again. "Jus' follow me.

There’s loud music emanating from the doorway ahead, a deep soulful diva wrapping her tonsils around a dark and powerful beat. Perfect. The essential element of our nighttime wanderings. Joey walks into the dark and dingy disco bar, which is full of spaced out kids amongst the chrome and leather. There’s no opposition from either of the bouncers on the door, which isn’t surprising given Joey’s current out-of-his-box disposition. We’re right behind him and we head en-masse to the bar. No sooner have we got some ice-cold cans of Red Stripe in our paws, than he comes over to me.

"Ere, Sam", he says. "Follow me".

I do as I’m told and go with him through the crowd to the toilet. As soon as we’re inside, he takes out a packet of rizlas and a small brown lump wrapped in clingfilm. He leans against the door as he constructs a joint, deliberately and almost - for Joey - delicately placing some tobacco from a cigarette into the rizla and adding a small amount of dope. He has his back right up against the door now.

"Don't want any bastard to get in", he says, immediately prior to sucking on the newly created spliff and inhaling it deep into his lungs. It’s warm in here and his freckled brow’s starting to sweat just a bit.

"Sam, listen”, he says "I'm off down the footy tomorrow. Last game o' the season. You coming? Or you working".

"Working in the morning. But I might come in the afternoon. You got tickets?".

"Not yet. But I can get some. You know my mate Mozza. Well, he can get 'em. Look. Let me know in the morning”.

“Yeah, all right”. He passes the spliff to me and I inhale as well. I pass it back and we stand fpr as long as we can.

"We'd better get back to 'em", says Joey. "They’ll be wondering what’s going on. Oh by the way".

"What?".

"You drive, don't you".

"Yeah, Course I do. Why?".

"Nowt. Not yet. You'll find out soon enough. But tomorrow, Sam. Its gonna be a riot. Know what I mean? Now I reckon you owe me a beer. ‘n mek it a pint this time, not a tinny".
I think better of refusing a round and make my way to the bar. After a few minutes I’m handed two pints of strong lager. They’re served in plastic glasses, hardly my drinking-vessel of choice, but I decide not to complain at least stage in the proceedings. Joey’s not got any such reservations.

"Bloody 'ell. You prat Sam. Why did you get plastic glasses. I hate drinking out o' plastic bleeding glasses. Jus' go back an' get them changed".

"Joey, mate. Listen. There's no way I can change 'em. Its a house rule".

"Aah, you wimp. Gimme that pint". Joey takes the pint from me and strides over to the bar. He walks up to the barmaid who served the order.

"Ere", starts Joey. "What's this all about".

"What?", asks the barmaid, tossing her black hair back nonchalantly and looking down her nose at Joey. "What do you want?".

"Its this. Plastic glasses. Plastic bleeding glasses. Who's idea was that?".

"Its a house rule, I'm afraid. All pints here are in plastic glasses".

"A what? A rule".

"A house rule. I can't change it just for you". This goes on for about two minutes until I manage to persuade Joey to leave it.

"There's more important things tonight than to get embroiled in this shite".

"Suppose you’re right".

He’s not convinced, you can tell, but he's had enough of being looked down at. So he lifts the pint to his lips and drinks the lot in one go.

"There. That'll do", he says. "Now. Where is everybody. Lets jus' go".

The rest of the lads follow as Joey walks out of the door into the light of the evening. There’s the odd one or two who’ve gone on ahead and are already half way down the street.

"Have this", I shout, pushing a cigarette at Joey. "It’ll get rid of that smell of plastic".

"Cheers mate", says Joey and we follow the crowd.

I tell you, its busy. The whole of the city's out with its glad rags on. There are huge groups of lads and girls all being loud and in the mood for a wild time. They've got the same sort of look - a kind of townie uniform that goes with the territory. The lads are wearing smart short sleeved shirts hanging out of their jeans or trousers - frequently with a touch of Burberry. The girls are dolled up in mini skirts and brief little vest tops or bodies. They have these different hairstyles - most are wearing the long shaggy look, the sleek baby doll style and the short feather cut with a long fringe. A few have pony tails but there are less of those and others have a cropped cut - but they're more the trendy ones you see in the bohemian places.

Soon we’re standing in another bar, listening to the sounds and waiting to be served. It’s a simple enough task but one that’s becoming a marathon, given the speed of the bar staff, for whom the concept of keeping the customer happy doesn’t exist. I stand for a good few minutes, watching the pantomime as they dawdle from one side of the bar to the other, chat to each other and have a general laugh to the irritation of the growing number of waiting punters. Eventually I get the beers in my hands but Joey looks less than happy when I take them over to him.

"What kept you", he asks. "I'd about given up".

"Aah, jus' the service at the bar. Need a rocket up their backsides". He’s not impressed.

"The thing you've got to learn, Sam, is that you've got to make your presence felt. Don't let 'em make you wait. Jus' keep on at 'em. Respect. That’s what its about. You’ve got to command respect".

I listen but don't take any of it in. I’ve heard it all before.

"C'mon, Joey", I say. "Lets go and join the rest".

"Yeah, all right".

We go over to the others who’ve started talking to some girls who are off clubbing. There’s a feeling amongst the group that joining forces and heading off with them may prove a more fruitful course for the evening than going to Simon's gig. Joey’s unconvinced.

"What do you mean, not go to see Si? Listen you bunch of pillocks. Si's an old mate of yours. And you stick by mates, don't you. You don't just go off with some skirt that turns up like that, out of the blue. Know what I mean?".

The lads look at Joey sheepishly. They know all right – he’s spot on. They’ll do what they’ve come out to do, as planned. Joey drinks the remains of his pint and heads for the door. We join the crowds again outside. We stroll through town and soon we arrive bar in Hockley and walk through to a room at the back where Simon's on the decks and spinning some top sounds. There's a bar on the left and the gents are on the right. The dancefloor's small and Simon's at the other end of the room. He waves over at us. He's a top boy, Simon, with his short black crop and small build. He's getting well into the crack and it look like others people are as well from the number on the dancefloor. I go over to the DJ decks.

"All right, my main man", yells Simon. "How's it going Sam me old mate ".

"All right, Si", I reply.

I’m feeling relieved that we’ve come after all. Like some of the rest, I was tempted by going to a club and am grateful to Joey for persuading us otherwise. I’ve known Simon for a few years now, since, and as a result of, my first getting into the club scene. I got to know him by sight on the dancefloors of some of town’s top clubs and we soon started chatting. Since then, there have been clubs nationwide, football, bars, women, the lot. We’ve done it all together.

"Look what I've got here", says Simon. "A classic, Sam." He lifts up a record - Green Onions by Booker T and the MGs - a tune from way back. "Not played it for ages. Fancy hearing it again?".

"Too right, Si. Why not. Its a gem innit?".

"It is - no doubt about it, Sam. Lets play it and get the place going".

Simon’s been on for ages about the sounds he wants to play – he’s always liked Green Onions and has been saying that its going to be one of the top ones in his mix. A big smile crosses his face. He takes the piece of vinyl out of its sleeve. I get in another beer and lean against the bar starting to get into the beat. Simon stands mixing. Then the record that’s been playing comes to its end and the tones of Green Onions start blasting through the speakers. Gradually, it takes over and Simon stands waving his arms around.

Joey looks over.

"C'mon, then. You lot. Get behind him”.

We go to the dancefloor. Its packed but we manage to find a space and get into the sounds. Yeah, its hot - there's no ventilation in here. But no one cares. We dance for ages and people begin to bump into me but I stand my ground and after a bit they go off. I tell you, you can't beat soul and r&b. On my right's this young lad with a solid haircut who's giving it all he's got, moving around to the groove and throwing his arms around. He's with his girlfriend and they're both well into it, their own world, not giving a damn about anyone else. On my left's this bloke with a hooped top, like he plays for Queens Park Rangers or someone. He's totally lost in it. And over there are a load of girls, all into their own scene upfront and getting into it. Then Green Onions finishes and Simon plays something else, some Tamla stuff which everyone gets into. Joey's lost to the world. The soulful style gets to him and he can't stop. But Simon's not had enough of his favourite record. He keeps playing bits of Green Onions through the mix, whatever song's on. In some ways it might be a pain but its not. Its sound and the whole place gets grooving.

After a bit, I'm feeling tired and hot and so I go over to get another beer. Joey gives a disapproving look when I leave the dancefloor but I couldn't care less. I get a bottle of Bud from the bloke behind the bar and its cold and I lift up my cap and hold it against my forehead which feels ace. Just what I need. Then I put it to my lips and neck it. Yeah, too right. You can't beat it. Then I go back to the dancefloor and join the rest. Joey doesn't worry. This is it. I feel out of it.

I gaze round. I’m looking for someone and its not long before I spot her, and she me. I leave the dancefloor and stride across to where Tina’s leaning against the bar. She looks as glam as ever, in a pink three-quarter length leather coat and little black mini-skirt. Her long blonde hair hangs loosely over her shoulders.

“All right, Tina”, I yell as I go across to her”.

“Evening Sam. How are you? I like the cap”.

“Cheers my friend. Bought it today. I’m not bad. Not bad at all. All the better for seeing you in fact”. She laughs. Simon looks over and nods approvingly. I smile to myself.

I met Tina about three months ago. Its her night off from her job behind the bar at The Funktion. I’ve made some progress, nothing special just a few beers here and there. The problem is that she’s not exactly what you might call available. In fact she’s living with her boss, a thick set sales type called Brian. We’ve not met personally but I’ve seen him on a couple of occasions and to be honest I’d rather not mess if I can help it. So my meetings with Tina are, by necessity, kept discreet. Which doesn’t help a lot when you’re trying to make a move.

I’ve thought more than once that I should just forget it. But a boy has to keep in trim. And I do like the girl. She’s certainly easy on the eye and there’s something about her that makes me want to keep trying and get a relationship going.

“So where have you been tonight?”.

“All over, really. I’m not working so I’m having a bit of a laugh. You?”.

“Here. There. Duckin. Divin.” I motion with my hands like I’m a bit of a spiv. She laughs again.

“You idiot”.

“And why not”.

“And why not indeed. You make me laugh. You fool”. She jokingly punches me on the arm.

“Fancy a fag”.

“Yeah all right”.

I take my packet of cigarettes out of my pocket and offer her one. As she looks down to take it, her hair falls across her face. She places the fag it in between her lips and I light it for her. I really do like her. But I’m not letting on. Not yet.

“Cheers”,.

“What do you think of the music”.

“Yeah. Its all right. Isn’t your mate who’s the DJ tonight?”.

“Yeah. That’s right. Si. His first gig”.

Things are going pretty well. I’m about to suggest that we grab a seat when moment, of all moments, who should appear through the crowd than Joey.

"What the hell you up to?", he shouts.

"Nothing", I say. "Just having a laugh with Tina".

"Well you can get yourself together. Cause we're off".

"What? Going?".

"Yeah. There's a party down near your way. Lenton. I'll tell Si and we're going".
I’m bewildered by this development.

"Nah, Joey. Lets stay. Its getting good here".

"I've told you. We're going. My mate says that this party'll be all right. Loads of women, loads of gear, loads of everything. We're going".

"Nah, Joey".

"Stop bleeding moaning. We're going".

"But I'm happy here".

"For Christ's sake, Sam. Stop going on".

"But....".

Joey goes over to Simon and speaks to him. Simon smiles and lifts his arm and Joey and the rest are out of the door. Tina’s looking at me. Bemused.

“I’m going”, she says. “You might as well go with your friends”. I try to appear casual about it.

“Aah. Not sure. Might wait around for a while”.

“Oh well. That’s up to you. I only popped in for one. I’m meeting Brian”.

“Fair enough”. I laugh but it must be obvious that this isn’t how I hoped the night would develop. She drains her glass.

“So. I’ll see you. Are you in The Funktion tomorrow?”.

“Er, yeah. Probably”.

“See you then”.

And with that she’s off and out of the door. I stand here. I’m stunned. There’s no way round it. I’ve got to go. Joey comes back and tells me to hurry up. He leads the way out of the bar and down to the Square where we wait for a bit until we can flag some taxis down as they make their way to the rank. We need two cars and I get into Joey's and he tells the driver to head off to Lenton near where I live. I ask him what's happening and he tells me that the party’s round there and we get driven through the Summer night and I'm feeling good and in the mood for a laugh. Joey says Simon's coming later - he's given him the address.

I can’t stop thinking about Tina. Was she interested or not? Did I play it cool or did I lose it? I don’t know. But I’ve got to forget about her as much as possible and enjoy the rest of the night. It may be hard but I’ll give it a go.

We get dropped off opposite The Grove which is one of my locals when I don't go into town. The other car pulls up and Joey leads us off through the streets in search of the party. We go down this one with terraced houses on it and we hear music so Joey knocks on the door but they're not having a party and so we go back. Its obvious that Joey doesn’t know where the party is. Outside one house we hear some music playing and so Joey knocks on the door. Its opened by a skinny hippy looking bloke in his thirties.

"Is this a party, mate", yells Joey.

"No. No party here", says the hippy.

"Are you sure?".

"Yes. I am. There's no party".

He closes the door.

"Are you sure you know where this party is?", I ask.

"Yeah, course" says Joey. "Nine Clayman Street".

"Where the hells that?".

"Round 'ere. Just got to find it". He keeps repeating the address as we walk on, increasingly aimless, through the streets.

"Why didn't you get the taxis to stop at Clayman Street?", I ask.

"Aah", replied Joey. "You know".

We arrive at a street which Joey thinks might be promising, near the back of The Grove, but again there’s no party. I’m getting tired now. I wish I’d stayed. But I’m with Joey and I decide to give him one more chance so I follow him and the rest for a while but get bored. I’m beginning to fancy a curry - after the beers it was bound to happen.

"Eh, Joey", I say. "You know that curry house just up Lenton Boulevard".

"Yeah?".

"Do you fancy one?".

"What? A curry now? You’re joking. We've got to find this party".

I know Joey from old - once he gets an idea in his mind, he won’t be stopped from doing what he wants to do. This party will be found in the end. There’s no other option. But I’ve had had enough.

"Listen, Joey. I'm knackered and I've got to go work in the morning. I'm off".

"You wimp", says Joey. "Not up to it. See you then".

I don’t care. I head off up to the restaurant and get a spicy meal and some nan bread and have a chat with the bloke in there who I know. When I walk out I eat my nan. I feel a bit better now. I go home with the sounds of traffic and music everywhere back to my bedsit. Night night.