Coops Blog from 2009

Of The Way We Were

Posted by coops, 21 May 2009 ·

This is the nighter, where we danced in our teens

To records by Foster, Parker and Sheen,

tunes from the 60s, the 70s and more,

We'd thumb it to Wigan, hundred miles from our door

Passing through Knutsford, taking our gear:

Our heads soon a-buzzing, singing tunes we shall hear.

Past sleepy towns, pubs closing for the night

Their punters are pissed and ready to fight

We smile at these mortals,

Our eyes wide as portals.

As their night it ends,

Ours slowly begins

Dropped off at Wigan, it's the end of the world

Get funniest looks from local boys and their girls.

Our trousers are bags;

As we draw on our fags.

No coats on our backs to combat the cold,

We're young and we're speeding, not pissed up and old.

It's two in the morning, Casino is closing.

Locals kicked out, half pissed and imposing

They soon see the thousand, waiting outside,

They haven't a clue 'bout Lou's Ragland and Pride

The crush gets much tighter as they open the door.

Up steps we are carried, feet not touching the floor

At last we're inside and the buzz starts again,

Like Gods those few dee-jays play dancers' refrains

Hearts thumping and beating at double the pace

Get down off the Balcony to grab dance floor space

Al Foster he leads us with haunting Wolf-flute

The smell of the sweat infuses with Brut

The girls are-a-spinning, skirts fly in air

The gum gets a chewing, we haven't a care

The beat and the whiz keep us pounding for more

Can't leave the dancing, or step off the floor

There's back drops and back flips, stompers and spinners

The country's top dancers, each one is a winner

No beer to confuse us, making heads thick

just bottles of Coke and Number 6 tipped.

There's Kev, Russ and Richard, and John Vincent too

They know what to play, they know what to do

Tune after tune some great and some poor

But all leave us aching whilst craving for more.

It's soon ten-to-eight Jimmy Radcliffe plays loud

We're still there a dancing, the young and the proud

We're part of a scene, so friendly, so tight

Our rituals are held deep into the night

Dean Parrish then signals the end, it is here

We look for our bags, the rest of our gear.

The night may be over, as we leave we are singing,

Bright morning sunlight as our eyes start a stinging

As the rest of the world slowly wakes from it's sleep

they haven't a clue of the faith we did keep

We get on our coaches, in cars or on trains

And head south for Whitchurch where we'll dance once again