Janey Godley - The grand night out down the club rises again like a phoenix

Published on Monday 10 November 2008 14:51

BACK in the late 1970s, I used to go to the local Shettleston social club with my mum.

It was full of people enjoying long drinking sessions on Sunday afternoons, when the pubs had to close, and that was its main attraction back then. The dcor reminded me of our local dentist's surgery, all beiges and browns. It really wasn't nice, but times have changed.

The old-fashioned working men's social clubs around the UK are having a noticeable revival. Once the sticky-carpeted domain of wee men in cardigans playing dominoes, they are now attracting a much younger generation.

Whenever a nation goes through a financial crisis people crave warmth, familiarity and – above all – a good bargain. And what better place to enjoy this than in a local social club with cheap booze and home-cooked food?

Social clubs and working men's clubs can offer a whole host of entertainment with bingo, singalongs and comedy nights. All of this on your own doorstep and it really is the place where everyone knows your name, as you need to join as a member and sign in on the door. No strange crowds of drunken rowdies are tolerated, as the members generally police their own establishment and deal with trouble straight away.

A young pal of mine, Stewart, who attends a social club in the West End of Glasgow, told me: "The club is full of local tradespeople and I met a bloke who can fit carpets and a painter for my new flat. You wouldn't get that kind of conversation in a city pub. The social secretary introduces you to new folk all the time at the club."

My mate's daughters are all hip, trendy and look like they just walked off the Sex and the City film set and they all attend their local social club on a Saturday night. They join the customers for the bingo session in the early evening, dance until the late hours and then walk home.

"Top night out, without the hassle and expense," they told me.

There is a strange coldness to the big brewery chain pubs that now exist in every single city centre. Having owned a bar myself for many years, I presumed that younger generations might never know the feeling of sitting in a wee independent pub – one that has individual dcor rather than generic bar fittings and is not flooded with promotional material.

"Not until they have live rap nights and hardcore hip-hop music will I be going," my daughter told me.

"You never know," I told her, "You can always go along and suggest it to the committee."

And now even she is thinking of attending a social club. Look out, Mr Chairman, the takings may be going up but the changes are a-coming!

Hail these fighters against fascism

BARCELONA was my comedy destination last week and I adore the place. The audience were a good mixed bunch of expats and Catalans and they really love the Scottish accent.

The Scots have strong links with Catalonia. It still intrigues me that men and women from my home town, Shettleston, volunteered to go and fight with the International Brigade against General Franco and the Fascists, back in the 1930s.

What kind of woman stood in her back court in my old streets, decided to forgo hanging up the washing and opted to hot-foot it across the Pyrenees in sandals, pick up a gun, learn a new language and shoot at the Fascist enemy? A strong, amazing woman, is all I can say! The statue at Glasgow's Clydeside of Spanish political leader Dolores Ibarruri, dedicated to the men and women who volunteered, says it all: "Better to die on your feet than live for ever on your knees."

I DON'T wear my engagement or wedding rings and haven't done so for many years. I always congratulated myself on my stance on not being "tagged" by gold; it was my gesture against becoming a chattel.

Last week, though, I wish the big gold bands had been on my finger as I washed the dishes and ran my left hand round the rim of a broken glass in the soapy water and sliced into where my rings would have been. My finger bled for ages and the gash needed two stitches: punishment for not wearing the sacred rings, I suppose.

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