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