The traffic’s meandering along Lenton Boulevard. Commuters on their way home to the villages and suburbs on the outskirts of the city. I watch them from my seat in the corner of The Grove, sipping my ice cold pint of Fosters. This is my local. It has all the trappings. I know the bar staff, will watch the footy here and have got into the habit of popping in for a pint on the quiet nights of the week. But its more than that. A local can be various things - somewhere you go as a matter of convenience, a place round the corner, a watering hole to meet your mates. But its rare for it also to be somewhere that you’d go out of your way to visit by choice.
The Grove’s the exception that proves the rule. I look forward to the experience. The big, heavy doors, the stone floor, the wooden benches. There’s a fake rusticity about it all. From the black and white pictures of bales of hay to the upturned barrels in the corner, the pub’s following a trend. Yeah, I like that, a bit, I suppose. The fact that the place is sitting in the middle of a city proves a point. Rusticity’s attractive in the abstract. If me or any of my mates actually ended up living in the country we’d hate it. Be back in the city centre as quickly as our loafers could carry us. But there’s more than this. The atmosphere’s good. Its a student pub, has an eclectic jukebox and is devoid of the trappings of idiots. It feels right. And that’s what matters.

I pick my mobile up from the table. The face is getting dirty. I rub my thumb across it, smearing the plastic a little with the moisture from my pores, and correct the fault with a wipe on my t-shirt. I want to check for messages, to sort out whether the plans I made with Simon this afternoon still hold good. But there’s nothing.

Suddenly the music starts. Someone’s put his small change in the jukebox. The speakers give the impression of beginning to vibrate as first a rhythm and then bass pour forth. A soul track floats across the summer evening. The sound of young America is with us. And so is my first compatriot for the evening’s entertainment.

“All right, matee”, announces Simon, as he strolls through the open door of The Grove, past the bar and the jukebox. “How’s it going?”.

“Yeah, not too bad”, I reply. “Saturday. Can’t beat it”.

“Too right. Skiving bastard”.

“Case of pots and kettles”.

I smile at him. A ray of sunlight shines on, illuminating, his black crop.

“Want a pint?”.

“Me? Now why would I want such a thing…..”.

He laughs. He cracks me up. “This is your last call. Lager is it?”.

“Too right mate. Thanks a lot”.

I watch Simon wander over to the bar and buy two pints of lager as if it don’t matter whether we get them today or next week. Naturally, he’s served first. He has a joke with the girl behind the bar and brings the beers across to where we’re sitting.

“There you go”.

“Cheers pal”.

“Anyway, I’ve got a bit of news for you”.

“What’s that then?”.

“Its confirmed. Another gig. Not sure exactly when. At The Funktion”.

“Brill. Si. That’s sound”.

“Course. We’re ready to get behind the wheels of steel. So lets play”.

Simon takes a packet of Benson and Hedges from his jeans, opens the top and offers me one. He has about half a dozen left. I take a cigarette out, placing the filter tip between my lips. I pick up my lighter and light up. I reach across to Simon and do the honours for him.

I take a drag and gaze again out of the window. The traffic’s still heavy. People work late. And on a Saturday as well. They must be mad. You wouldn’t find me staying at an office, however upmarket, until after seven on a Saturday night. No chance. I suppose it depends on what your philosophy on life is but mine, for what its worth, involves staying at work for as short a period as possible. You see, I’m a bit of a hedonist at heart. I like drinking, going out, having a laugh. You know, the usual stuff. But I need dosh to be able to do that – and there’s only one place you get that from. Work. So I have to go there. Once in a while. When it suits.
The break in our conversation’s interrupted by the double beep of my mobile. I pick it up and have a look at the facia. There it is. The symbol of an envelope. I click on the menu.

“Who’s it from”, asks Simon.

“Dunno yet”. I work my way through the menu. There’s one message. I nearly fall off my seat.

“Its from Tina”.

“What’s she want?”.

“Wants to know what I’m up to”.

“What you going to do?”

“She’s working tonight. I’ll tell her I’ll see her later”.

“Nice one. What about the boyfriend?”.

“Dunno. Assume he’s out. Normally is when Tina calls me”. I can’t help lying. We laugh.

I press the button on the mobile to get the “reply” option. “CU in The Function”, I type in and press “send”. In a few seconds the phone double beeps again. “When?”, it reads.

“She wants to know when I’ll be there”.

“Ha. You stud. Your round”.

“Wha…oh, er, yep. Suppose it is”.

I drain my pint and saunter over to the bar, my mobile in my left hand, typing in as I go. I’m concentrating so much on sending the text message that I don’t notice the barman looking at me, slightly bemused, over a pair of trendy glasses.

“Can I help….”.

“Er…yes. Cheers mate. Er, two pints of, er, Fosters”.

He wanders off. I carry on typing. “At 10.30”. I send the text message. Again, in a few seconds, the mobile beeps with the confirmation. “OK” it says. I slide the mobile back into my pocket just in time for the barman to return clutching two pints.

“Cheers”, I say, and pass him a creased fiver, which I’ve quickly extracted from my other pocket. He takes the note and smooths it out with a mild look of disdain. I ignore this, keen as I am to keep the upbeat mood of the evening going. I lift one pint and place the cold, condensation wrapped glass against my forehead. Its hot in here and the sensation of coolness is a relief. For a moment. I take a swig. It doesn’t have the fresh quality of the first, but this third pint still tastes very special indeed. Then I pick up Simon’s beer and wander back to where he’s sitting.

He’s busy sending a text himself, when I sit down. “Just letting Joey know that we’re coming in a bit”.

“Nice one”.

I sip my beer and glance again out of the window. The traffic’s thinning off a little and its starting to get dark. I pull on my latest fag. Another tune starts to play. I smile to myself and fiddle with my mobile.


Bellamy’s is busy. I'm sitting by the window looking out at the side street that runs down to Market Square. Its light and bright and people are beginning to come in and get their drinks. I have a swig of my lager. Yeah, that tastes sound. I feel loads better than I did earlier today. In fact, I'm in a drinking mood which is just right for a Saturday night like this. I look at my reflection in the window - that black top was a good choice, it'll do nicely. There’s just me and Simon at the moment. He’s been talking about his gig all the time we’ve been out. He’ll be on about it all night.

But here's the main man. Joey walks through the door and comes over to us.

"Evening lads", he says. Wanna beer?".

"Yeah. Cheers mate",

Joey goes back down the steps, pushing his hand through his crew cut. He's wearing his Ben Sherman tonight and is obviously in the mood for a good time. He brings back the beers.

"That was a waste of a day", he says.

"What are you on about?", asks Simon.

"The footy Si. The footy. Nil nil. I wanted a few goals. They‘d better sharpen up for next season".

"Aah, well, Joey", I say. "there's the whole Summer to think about it".

"Yeah, Sam. I'm going to this away game in the week - friendly - should be a laugh. A riot, you know. Anyway, that was today. There's things to do tonight".

"Yeah".

"Anyway, you two. You never came to that party".

I start to yawn. "Joey, you've told me all that before". Simon laughs.

"Are you saying at I'm going on". We both laugh. "I'll stop going on then". He’s got the message.

For a bit there's a silence. That's unique for us but its broken quickly when some of the other lads arrive and we start having a laugh and jesting with each other. I swig my beer and look round the place. This is a good bar to start the night in. Its done out in a sort of continental style with no carpets and tables round the side but with a tiled drinking area in the middle. There's top sounds played all night and that's one of the main reasons we come here. You can sit and have a warm up for the rest of the night in the environment of good music and a cool atmosphere. Joey's necked his first already and he turns to me.

"Hey, Sam, mate".

"Yes Joey".

"I'm sitting 'ere with an empty glass an' I'm waiting for another".

"Oh, yeah, Joey".

"Its your round".

"Yes Joey".

I go over and get one in. But that one’s quickly drunk and the leader's shouting that we've got to move on and get into the night. So we finish up here and walk down the street, underneath what I reckon must be a replica of The Bridge of Sighs in Venice though it doesn’t look very impressive and soon we're walking through the Square which is as packed as last night with the same crowds and we walk up the steps of the bar which is heaving. It takes Simon ages to get served and Joey's getting annoyed but soon he comes back and we're away. I lean at the bar and look round. I drink my beer and the night carries on like this as we move from pub to pub and get the ales in. We sing a bit as we go and sometimes we have a job getting in. But we manage it in the end.


When last orders comes, Joey turns to me.

"I reckon", says Joey. "That its a club now".

"Too bloody right", I shout.

"Which one".

"The Funktion".

"We went to that one last week", says Joey.

"And the week before that", says one of the others.

"And the week before that".

"Yeah, all right", I say. They all laugh.

So we make our way through the Square and soon we’re standing outside The Funktion. There's a queue. Quite normal. But we should be all right.

"All right Sam, my old mate", says the bouncer when I get to the door.

"All right, mate".

"Yeah".

"Looks good here tonight".

"Yeah it is".

"You gonna let me in free, then?".

"Dunno".

"Come on".

"I can't mate".

He usually lets us and Simon in free but he must have his reasons why he can't. Never mind. Paying every so often doesn't matter that much. You know how it is. We walk up to the desk and pay, heading through the foyer. It used to be a cinema, this place, and it shows. You walk through some wide doors into the huge great arena with bars on your left and right. Some infectious music's pumping out of the speakers and I move a bit to it. Nah, Sam, cool down. It can wait. Time for a drink.

I walk up to the bar and manage to attract the barman’s attention straight away – must be getting lucky. I grab a can of Red Stripe and a bottle of Becks and head over to where Simon’s watching group of girlies dancing round their handbags over the balcony. The floor fills up with ravers and I'm feeling all right. We have a dance and take over this corner of the floor near the bar area and stand in a circle to stop any other intruders coming in and taking our space. I have to go the gents and when I've had a leak I stand at the bar. Simon comes over.

"Are you going to talk to Tina?", he asks.

“I will. In a bit”.

I hang around on my own, drinking and smoking. I can see Tina serving someone on the other side of the bar. Its not long before she spots me and comes over, all smiling. She’s got her hair up tonight, which isn’t usual for her, although it gives her a striking edge, subtly accentuating her cheekbones and her full, brightly glossed lips. Her black top and skirt complete the pose.

“All right, Tina”, I say.

“Evening Sam. So you’ve made it?”.

“Too right, babes. Thought I’d pop in”. Her face drops a little.

“Is that right?”.

“Of course. I said I was coming didn’t I?”.

“You did. At about 10.30 I think your text-message said”.

“Oh. You know. Time flies and all that”.

“Whatever. Anyway, how are you doing?”.

“Sound”,

“ Where have you been anyway".

"You know, all over".

She raises her eyebrows and walks off to serve somebody.

This is an awkward one. I have to admit that she looks as good ever. But I want to keep it looking casual, though I won't tell her that. Might ruin my chances.

"So ", I say when she comes back. “Where’s loverboy tonight?”.

“You mean Brian. My boyfriend”.

“That’s the geezer”.

She looks a bit mad at this.

“He’s not a geezer. He’s my boyfriend”.

I smile at her. “Whatever you say”. She can’t stop herself. She laughs.

“So then”, I say. “What are you doing later?". Must be the dutch courage.

She smiles. I watch her as she walks over to the other side of the bar. She turns and laughs. Don’t want to count any chickens but I have a feeling that I could just be in here. God knows how. She passes me a pint. I give her the dosh. I'll have to wait a while if I'm going to get anywhere tonight, though I'm sure it'll be worth it. So stand and drink and have a chat with people.

I lean against the bar surveying the scene. Its weird, you know. We live in an age where experiences are the same wherever you go. The decor of this place, with its chrome and black, is the same everywhere. You might as well be in Romford or Rochdale. Or Rimminy for that matter. The decor's the same, the people look the same, the sounds are the same. At some times that might depress me but at the moment it doesn't. There's a thing about shared culture which is all right. It means that everyone in the whole world can listen to this music and get into it like we are. Hard though it is to accept, we’re not the only ones who know what its all about. And that's sound.

I drink my beer and go and join the rest of them on the dancefloor. Simon's talking to this little blonde and I reckon he's in. So I just carry on dancing around.

After a while of getting down to some delicious funky grooves, it strikes me that the time’s moving on and I’m conscious that I’ve been away from Tina’s bar for a while. I don’t want to appear too keen but at the same time I need to keep on the case. I decide to stroll back. She’s standing there leaning on the bar.

"All right, Tina".

"Sam, you again. Well, what can I say".

"Not a lot, really. Just, well, I wondered what time you finish".

She raises her eyebrows.

"Not long".

“Fancy a drink?”, I ask, as Tina finishes her glass.

“Mm. Yes Sam. That’d be nice. I’m due a break. Let me just go and clear it”. She disappears for a moment and then appears again with a drink.

“Shall we grab a seat?”, I gesture towards the side of the bar.

“Ok. Why not”.

Tina leads the way across the floor and sits down, leaning towards me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was giving me the come on. I’m seriously thinking about making a move but I decide to give it time. I carry on the banter. Then the situation’s too much.

“So, Tina”, I say. “What you up to later?”.

“I’m meeting Brian”.

“When?”.

“In a while. I’m going soon”. Now I have to go for it.

“But, er, do you really have to?”. I put my hand on her knee.

“Sam. I’ve got a boyfriend”. She doesn’t move her leg but starts to be assertive. “I’ve got a boyfriend who I’m meeting later”.

“But…..”.

“No. Sam. I like you. You’re nice. But I’m with someone. So…..”.

“But Tina…..”.

“Sam. I know you. I know your sort”.

“How do you….?”.

“I just do. OK. Your reputation goes before you”.

“But…”.

“Sam. I don’t want to be a notch on your bed head”.

“Look Tina…..”.

“And anyway all that’s irrelevant. I’m with Brian. My boyfriend….”.

“But Tina. I didn’t mean…..”.

“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean that you were trying to get off with me?”.

“No….”.

“Pull the other one. I’m not stupid. Its quite flattering, I suppose, a boy like you being after me”.

This cheers me up. “But I’m taken. So that’s all there is to it”. I suppose I’d better give up the fight. At least for now.

“OK”.

“Is that understood?”.

“Yes”.

“In that case I’ll see you soon. Now I’d better get back to work”.

And with that, she’s off. I sit here, feeling down. I drain my pint and get up. I need another one. As soon as I can.