FFS
The mention of Clatty Pats below reminds me of a terrible, terrible story from my being a student many, many moons ago in Glasgow.

In mitigating statement in advance, I didn't realise that the fact that none of my Glaswegian friends were going to Clatties on a Thursday evening was for a particular reason. I'm a bit older now and don't do clubs any more (like my hearing - and like proper music, including music I could play without having to rely on a 'pooter for every second sound. Also, prefer to not be "aff ma napper"...).

Wavy lines ...

I arrive at Clatties on my own at 2300 on a Thursday evening to realise that there's no queue. In my defence (again) I thought that this was a good thing (I was young...).

Wander in to the club and realise within - ooh, whole seconds - that I'm the youngest person in there by about 20 years. Bollocks.

I've just paid the door charge of a fiver (the early 90s) and this came with a few drinks thrown in so proceeded to hold up the bar.

Notice that there are males there of roughly my age which I know to be referred to as doing a Rooney...

...ahem. Managed to avoid a lumber that night, thankfully.
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Fri 10 Apr 2009, 20:20, Reply)