Back in the day, when you didn't like Disco and didn't do 'smart casual', when your hair was as long as you could get it and there were more patches than jeans on your jeans, there was only one place to go in Brighton - the 'Years'. We only usually had enough to get in and buy a half pint of cider, but that was all you needed. Up the stairs into the gloom and fug and a find a table to sit on in between bouts of self-induced neck-ache! If you were lucky, you'd get a balcony seat and, if you could make yourself heard, a request. But that was generally a waste of time as every other record - either Zeppelin or Hawkwind or Sabbath or Lynryd Synryd - was all we ever wanted to hear anyway!
The Years opened at around 10pm and closed just after one. But the last train home (discounting the late night goods train at Hove, if you were lucky enough to jump on board) was at just before 11. So it was a foregone conclusion that you (and many others) would be walking home to Shoreham. No matter - it would take you that long to get the ringing out of your ears and the lingering riffs of Blue Oyster Cult's 'Don't Fear the Reaper' - almost always the last record of the night - out of your head. And there was always more of the same to look forward to on the following Saturday night. Those were the days!
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