Let’s time travel. 2009, Sheffield, the university years. Welcome to Vodka Revs — a branch of Revolution Bars — when, each time the bartender turns to the till, I ease a martini glass from the overhead rack and slide it down an arm of my coat. I stop after seven. A success until it’s time to leave, when outside, as I throw my hands up in triumph, everything comes crashing, shattering down. The bouncers shout; I run.
Does everyone over 18 and under 40 have a memory like this? Could anyone still have a night like that? I think about that crystal puddle surprisingly often: 15 years later, it crosses my mind every time I order a martini. At the time, Revolution was worth about £60 million, and drinks were a fiver when they were from the top shelf. It was a haven.
