Every Little Helps

When I was growing up if you wanted to go out on “The Pull” you would don your best denim, shirt and jacket, maybe roll up the sleeves a little bit, bath in Old Spice or in my case my prefered scent of “HERO” aftershave and make your way to the nearest disco.
This always seemed rather odd to me. Your ability to attract a member of the opposite sex is surely at a lose in such places. You have various pros and cons. The dance floors and bar areas are so poorly lit that should you be the very next Tom Cruise, (edit: Please replace with whomever is the latest swoon these days???) you immediatly lose the advantage of your looks. Then you fall back onto your wit and intellect and try amaze your new rose with the banter and gift of the gab only ever found spilling from the vocal cords of such great comics as Lee Evans, Billy Connelly or Peter Kay, but again this falls into a shouting and volume competion between you and “Ah-Ha” being played by the DJ which results in the fair maiden beliving she has stumbled across the local village idiot, (which in my case was true)...
This just left you with the two other things you did in such venues, dancing and drinking. Again I fell at the first hurdle, unless you were impressed with me throwing shaps on the dance floor that can only be described as a man recieving a very high voltage electric shock it didn’t bode well. That left me with the good old trusty and faithful Beer Googles… But again this tended to fail, instead of waking up next to a beautiful lady I would normally be awoken by the smell of vomit and a thick carpet of fur on my tongue that would need removing with a fly-mo.

Things progressed slightly in the 90’s. You now covered yourself in Lynx Africa, had a slightly better dress sense and instead of going to Disco’s you went to nightclubs, which as far as I can tell is exactly the same as a disco but with a better budget. You still had the poor lighting, albeit now filled with multi-coloured laser shows, the volume of the music had increased to an ear damaging level, I still couldn’t dance although the whole electric shock thing did pass quite well during the rave era and come the morning I would still find myself waking up in a pool of my own vomit and a half eaten kebab. Some took refuge in the taking of various illegal substances to increase their dancing and pulling abilities but as far as I can tell this only resulted into people standing motionless next to the night cubs largest Bass bin dribbling from the corner of a lop sided mouth or laughing maronically at a pigeon that happend to cross their path on their crawl to the nearest kebab shop.

Towards the end of the 90’s and progressig into the naughties nightclubs were still in vogue but you now had the option of going to a nightclub pub, you are now dripping in the latest aftershave and potions promoted by some footballer and his wife and you are back to wearing what was once considered cool in the 80’s. Much more of the same takes place in the nightclub-pub but with a smaller dance floor and more of an inclination towads the drinking aspect of finding a mate for the evening, beer googles are handed out at the door and alcho pops are all the rage.
The lonely walk through town at the end of the night to the local kebab shop is still much the same except now every door in town seems to be adorned by two gorrilas in tuxcedos, only too willing to explain to you in their own subtle way that throwing up on the pavement and their shiny shoes is not the done thing.

I am told that now should you wish to find a lovely lady you are better off popping down to your local supermarket and and picking up a few essential groceries rather than crawling through the endless neon lit bars, taverns and clubs filling every available corner in our fair towns and cities.
More people these days seem to find their perfect partner whilst deciding if it really matters if their chicken is corn fed, organic or left to their own devices on a 100 acre plot of land in the northern regions of France. This in reflection does seem to be the perfect place. The lighting is far better, the only competion for your vocal chords is the spillage being announced in ailse seven, should you still need some dutch courage, various alcoholic beverages can be purchased and unless you are the local village idiot there will be no requirement to show of your dancing skills.

So to all those singletons out there pop down to Tesco’s where it seems that Every Little Helps and find your perfect partner…