Nostaglia and Daddy's taxi

I had to sit up this evening until after 1:30, not because I was cutting code or engrossed in some painting project .. but because I was being Daddy's taxi for my son and his friends. Ferrying them to an from Kelly's Nightclub in Portrush.

Now I really don't mind this, it is after all considerably safer if I pick them up and redistribute them back to their beds, doubly so if they are "tired and over emotional"

However I was sitting the car park thinking of how it hadn't really changed since I was their age ... 1.30 am in the car park, once again bereft of female company and munching down on a Kebab with extra chili and garlic. Then it occurred to me it HAD changed at my son's age we were going to Kelly's of a Saturday Night but unlike now our parents were not outside in a nice warm car waiting to take us home. In fact our parents didn't even know we were there and would have had canipitions had they found out that their darling children were "shaking the stuff to the funky funky beat" in a sink hole of depravity like Kelly's NiteClub!

Ah the world turns and things change ~sigh~ gone are the days when we as young Irish lads wondered if this would be the Saturday night where at LAST we would find what delights lay beneath Siobhan McNally's cheesecloth shirt. Delights so tantalizingly hinted at by her more than adequate curves. In those days lassies moved in packs like she-wolves but instead of circling prey they circled their hand-bags on the dance floor as we fellas got down to the serious business of the evening which largely involved beer, purchase and consumption of same.

10pm,11pm and Midnite would pass and then at 12:30 PANIC another Saturday Night was nearly over and female company had eluded us once again. Once the panic subsided it was followed by a mass stampede of fellas from the bar. The hall would echo not only with the latest ditty by T-Rex but also with the phrase "Are you dancing.?" which was responded to with a nod which equated to success or "nah i'm not THAT desperate"
After 4 or 5 rejections, the siren call of the bar once again worked it's magic and twas there we were found when the lights came on. Our illusions of stud-dom shattered, broke, drunk and wondering how we were going to get home.

This usually involved walking the 8 miles back to town .. Hey ho! Sometimes I wish I could go back to that time ... but on an icy Feb night with a long trudge down the roads of north Antrim ahead i think i prefer the here and now :)

Now it is time to head off to bed I think...