On a steep, cobbled alley off a back street, in an
unfashionable corner of a post-industrial Northern city, some time toward the
end of the twentieth century: the 1 in 12 Club.
Upstairs in the members’ bar: Jon and me. Grumbling about the rhythmic banging coming
through the floor from below, and the wasted 10ps in the jukebox. Not the comforting percussive rhythm which
meant that Protag was doing some maintenance work on the PA or stage, but the
intrusive amplified bottom end from some dance music genre that was niche
enough to require an additional adjective; tech house or hard techno or
somesuch.
