Hanrahan’s, Sheffield
On the surface of it, the problem was straightforward. Somehow, we’d all made it to the sixth form, an elevation we thought so magnificent – oh, the grandness of being allowed to drink Nescafé in free periods! – it was surely only right now to mark it with a minor increase in sophistication come Friday night. But the question was: how? Clubbing was one thing. We were avid for that, and went dancing in town twice a week in our cliff-top shoulder pads and scratchy white shoes. The bigger drama was the matter of what to do first. No longer would the pub do: that slow eking out of our Cinzano and lemonades, the better that we might not conk out too early later (alas, I usually did conk out too early).
