Back in the good old dark days before the internet was the go to place for socialising and dating you had to leave you house. You needed to make an effort and call friends, see what was happening. What was worth spending a travel card on. For those of us that lived outside London coming into London was a grave decision. Why not go to the local pub, The Bell, or worse, Kudos in Watford? If a travel card wasn’t bought then chances are you were going to end your night like all nights ended in the club called Batchwood with the same old faces that you had snogged years ago. This was before the days of drinking so snogging was a sport as opposed to a tipsy accident.
Outfits would be discussed weeks in advance. Did you have time to go to the market to add ribbons, bows, studs or lace onto said batty riders? The answer to this question was always yes. You would make time. And sneak into Superdrug for that eyeliner that was bound to set you apart from the other young’uns in the club. Or gold hairspray from Brixton market. Oh the planning!
There was a sense of anticipation back then. Who were you going to meet and who would you give your number to? Of course back then you were still living at home so couldn’t give your number out to any old Tom, Rich or Delroy. You had to have standards because your parents would be asking you about them. Where did they live, what do their parents do, how many A grades did they get in GCSE? What is a BTEC business and finance? What do you mean they weren’t ever going to university? Yes indeed you had to know who you were talking to and fast.
Back then guys didn’t ask you to dance. You’d just feel someone move behind you. Before you knew it they’d be trying to steer you to their rhythm. It was semi annoying as, not everyone was feeling the song at the same pace as you were. Some were just dry humping you and hoping you didn’t notice their early ejaculation from the dance. Pun intended.
It was all a bit weird and random and yet relationships were formed at these raves as they were called. Somehow people thought that music and a Leicester Square burger King on a Tuesday night was having something in common. I guess it was as some chose to walk to the McDonalds. Values were established early.
But then we had the internet. Now both you and I can sit in our respective houses behind a screen and lie. We can tell each other what we think the other wants to hear. Yes I’m athletic if you ignore my budda Belly Maxine. Yes you are looking for a LTR (long term relationship) when really you want a NSA (no strings attached). That GHOH means you think you’re funny because you LOL at everything. Yes we are both single when your girlfriend or wife just happens to be asleep or out. Basically we can’t even pretend that we have anything in common because let’s face it food or travel don’t tell you enough about anyone. When I say travel I mean somewhere hot with a suitcase full of bikinis, baby oil and books. You might mean backpacking and booze. It’s just not a match. I will never hostel it.
I wish we could go back to those simple days where you were ever so casually masturbated on at a rave and we called it dance (this was before daggering. I don’t think I could have taken daggering) or when there was an excitement getting ready to go out because maybe, just maybe this was the night you would meet someone worth giving out your number to and getting to know. Alas, it’s match, zoosk, pof, tinder fast moving, fast lying 20 dates in a month which doesn’t give me enough time to get to the market and buy some roses to add onto my batty riders. Yes I still wear batty riders. I’m holding onto the 90s.
© Chelsea Black