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The Post-Club Conundrum

Our carriage awaits...

Our carriage awaits...

A queue of Mercs and Hummer H3s rev into the o2 car park as four bleary eyed clubbers stagger out of the club, ears ringing. Hmmm, a nice warm cab with a friendly driver and a good sound system before home, thought they. But there, on the horizon, emerged the stuff of nightmare. A Toyota Corolla comes into view, with massage beads on the passenger seat and a navel-length beard behind the wheel. We each count the groups of people ahead of us and the number of cabs in front of the Corolla. Panic sets in. A group of girls step into a brand new Land Rover ahead of us. If we get this rusty pile of broken spanners we will be laughing stocks. “Please, no!” we screamed in our minds. We wanted the Hummer so bad. So bad! But fate had other, more sinister ideas.

“Clapham South mate?”

Nostrils flaring, we ascended the Corolla.

“What tunes you got in here then mate?” I said, staring blankly at the built-in radio. Our heavy-lidded driver simply pointed in the general direction of the dashboard. He may have spent the last decade carving a niche into that sweaty little seat of his, but I sensed my virgin foray into exploring the car’s audio system preceded his. We would’ve settled for anything. Long wave. Power ballads. Talk radio. Traffic updates. The Counting Crows. In the end, silence was deemed preferable to white noise.

“Do you like football?” I ventured. He shrugged. Silence.

“What reg is this car mate?” A pal contributed from the back.

After a long pause he replied with what might have been “why?” or “Y”. My brow furrowed and I turned to the window for inspiration. Dusty high-risers flew by, punctuated by neon chicken signs from every state in America. I was supposed to be a host. Now ZZ Top and his poxy Corolla had ruined everything. I could hear the enthusiasm dripping out of my comrades and onto the sick-stained floor. My first song back at the flat would have to be strong. It needed to rally the troops. It had to show them there was life in this night still. What could I play? What tune on earth could bear aloft this desperate burden?

Written by Wonky Rats

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