When Sam met Lucy (Part 1)

An story for our anniversary - 3 years ago today:

It was a Wednesday night, one of the first of the student year. My housemate (an off duty marine) and I - a guy who still referred to myself as a 'young professional' (in an attempt to demonstrate my non-student status whilst still clinging on to my student lifestyle with my fingertips) were on our way into the club.

The club was known at the time (and perhaps it still is) as 'Halo', a former church near the university whose owners had somehow sidestepped planning policy (and common decency) to rennovate the place in the style of a 90's nightclub hole akin to ones I used to frequent in my youth. We were half-cut and quite obviously (at the age of 23) the only non-students in the entire queue.

We were dressed in tight shirts and baggy jeans as was the style of our generation. We had though we looked pretty cool as we had set out - completely unaware that the students of the age were for ripped skinny jeans, scruffy t-shirts and ridiculous (what we had termed 'Headingly wanker') mohecan haircuts.

Mark was the original wild child and a guy who has lived life to the full more than anyone else I know. A more unpredictable guy you could never meet. But he was a good guy all the same.

Mark had a ponchant for what he termed himself 'shit' tattoos, and was openly proud of the 'shit' Royal Marrines Commando Dagger scrawled down his upper arm (he was planning another at the time). He also had a liking for seedy internet 'dating' which I wouldnt like to comment on. All I will say is that I wouldn't let any daughter of mine 'date' a marine.

We had made a pact for that night Mark and I. We were determined to re-live (my) student days and with both of us having some time off that week, we had decided to head off on a Wednesday night to find studentdom. Upon talking to the natives in the local bars, we determined that Halo was the place to be on a Wednesday.

So there we were shuffling forwards in the queue trying to look inconspicuous when the bouncer at the front gave us a knowing frown as if to say 'I know your game' and promptly asked for our student ID. We exchanged panicked glances but just as we were about to offer our unrehearsed excuses someone from behind us broke for the doorway. A stroke of luck, our doorman was distracted and needing no further encouragement we made our own breakthrough.

Inside the club was already sweaty with heaving bodies. The multi-mezzanine floors throbbed with the bass of the awful 90's dance cheese that only student nightclubs could get away with playing. I looked around and could have sworn that most of the kids in there weren't even 16 let alopne 18 year old university students - the creme de la creme of the british education system.

.............

Unfortunately the conclusion of the story will have to wait 6 or 7 days as I am shortly going on my 'Hunting Kommodo Dragons by Camera' trip (although this apparently doesnt involve throwing my brand new compact digital at lizards as I first thought).

Also yes lucy this is a day late (sorry) we have been pitched into a two day blackout as the Gili Trawangon generator packed in and I was unable to post.

Sorry I cant be with you today (yesterday).