I suppose a lot depends on where you grew up, when looking back at Saturday nights. We lived in a town just outside Birmingham. Locally there were coffee bars, a cinema, a dance hall and social clubs. From around 13/14 I would meet up with friends, see a film or go dancing. I had to be back by 10, but that left plenty of scope when setting off at 6pm. This was before discos took off, so there would usually be a live group playing somewhere. Some went on to become quite famous like Spencer Davis, or infamous like Screaming Lord Sutch (who started the Monster Raving Looney Party.) 

Getting ready for the evening involved a ritual that began hours before. A deep cleansing home-made face mask of Fullers Earth, a lengthy soak in a bubble bath, legs and underarms treated with Veet. Then the hair, God, the hair. After an afternoon of rollers, the backcombing, battling with unruly baby locks.

Sometimes we would meet at someone's house and do each other’s make-up and nails. Getting ready was the best bit really. A bit older and it was pubs, folk clubs and Brum's answer to the Liverpool Cavern. The 10pm deadline went, and it was not unusual to be having a curry at 1am. 

I read a few articles recently saying that Saturday night as we knew it has gone. Pubs, clubs and restaurants were all bursting at the seams on weekend afternoons. Venues were thriving, and some hospitality workers reported closing and going home by 9pm. I found that hard to believe, until last Saturday. We went to the matinee at Birmingham Rep, walking through the trendy part of the city to get there. At 2pm nightclubs had their doors wide open, lots of people inside. Groups of girls, done up to the nines, were falling out of taxis, legs and bosoms out, looking to party at lunchtime. Pubs and cafes were packed.

A hen party would be my idea of Hades, but I do love to see groups of girls hellbent on having good time.

We stopped going out on Saturday night years ago. Spock was working long hours all week, doing a lot of driving. A bit of shopping and lunch was enough, before slumping on the sofa come 7pm. We started going out to eat on weekdays, early evening courtesy of my curry-ravaged digestive system. No need to book then. Not now, local restaurants are packed come 6pm. Cinema and theatre matinees are no longer the preserve of us oldies, loads of younger people go to them.

There was a poignant moment when we got back from Brum. Spock had been leaving piles of his old underpants on his desk, much to my annoyance, too tight to throw them out. We are not talking designer mind you, but packs of five from Asda. As I prepared supper, he settled down with the sewing box."I don't want to eat yet" he called out "I told you I was setting aside Saturday evening to sew my pants". I tell you, this Rock'n'Roll lifestyle will be the death of me.

Val

A Moodscope member