Pemps

...a long-established and famous Night Club in Wigan, I had an opportunity to check the place out with a cohort of drunken ladies one Saturday night and and there's nothing that can adequately prepare you for the place.

Basically, take a large garage. Set it on fire. Put it out with an axe, stick in some speakers at head height to knock out anybody who actually tries to dance and charge people a £3 entrance fee. Throw in a free lollipop of indeterminate flavour, possibly laced with anti-depressants and just go with the flow as Barry White sings incomprehensably deep about stuff only ladies seem to
comprehend. Chef from South Park would love it in here.

Don't get there too early, nobody in their right mind is in there before 1AM - the place is strictly for desperados who haven't yet got pissed enough to be already unconscious or who haven't been able to pull anywhere else, or the odd insomniac innocent like me who like to people watch in search of someone who can make me appear normal.

As I look around it turns out I've not got anything to worry about, the big fat lady had already got someone pinned against a beer barrel ( or is that two people? ) and was warned to avoid the "Pemps Stare" if I didn't fancy getting nabbed by a granny. Off the main dance floor is the Budgie Corner where the walls are covered in mirrors so those who don't stand a chance in the Market Square can at least feel they've tapped up, even if it is only with their own reflection - all that was missing was a bell and millet to complete the picture.

One of the ladies I was with took my hand an lead me to the ladies toilets - to stand guard duty at the door, the locks don't work. Moments later she burst out when she made the mistake of flushing the loo and nearly got drenched in the process. This is the only place I never seen two ladies share a cubicle - what is that all about anyway?

The place is quite full now and as watch the ladies I'm with, I notice how females have a natural affinity for dance and wanted to learn how they do it so well even (or especially) when they're totally pissed.

I watched the movements of her shoulders, but ladies have some extra ballast in the upper region that helps provide a certain momentum I can't quite get right, but I stick my chest out and have a go anyway.

They can do stuff with their hips too that I lack the girth to emulate properly, but I girate mine in a way that seems to be getting looks of approval from my immediate female partners and of those further afield so to hell with it...

One of them is wearing stilletto heels and I find her foot movements suprisingly nimble considering that normally she can hardly walk at all in them by this time of night, so I lift myself up on my toes slightly and I gotta admit, by bobbing up and down together with gyrating my hips and wiggling my shoulders I must have looked like a complete and utter prat.

A fellow waltzed up to me and asked me if I work out.
"Err, no..." I sez, somewhat taken aback.
"Are you a model?" he asks.
"What? No, no - why??" I boggles.
"Well, you got the face, you got the physique, you could be on twenty thousand a week" he says, and seemed completely serious about it too. I didn't ask need to him exactly what kind of modelling he was on about but I thank him cordially, and fearing that this is some kind of chat up line I grabs one of the ladies I'm with and begs her to help me not look gay. She was of course only too willing to oblige, she'd seen the whole thing and she was in stitches - "it could only happen to you Dave" she said as she wiped away the tears of laughter.