We Love the Pain

Out clubbing it in Manchester on Saturday night, I was pleasantly surprised that a woman was commanding the decks in a bar slap bang in the middle of the Northern Quarter = cruddy area of Manc land that is now considered ridiculously chic, think Hoxton.

Anyway there she was. Through the drunken haze she appeared like a beacon of understated cool. Big headphones, thick fringe and a contained enthusiasm – this female DJ rocked a joint filled with Liam Gallagher throw-backs and fat Mancs loving their booze filled weekend freedom.

And then she did it. Having convinced the bar owner some bird could control the decks and a too-kool-for-skool Northern crowd, she beautifully abused her dominance and started playing power ballads.

Sheer genius. By that point most men were too pissed to hide the fact they loved them as much as women. But the women no longer cared for their male specie. They were dead to us now as we entered the world of massive 80s hair and broken hearts. We all turned and saluted the Aphrodite of the decks for fulfilling our every need.

She played them all and gave us the night. The only things missing were our hairbrushes and bathroom mirrors. But then came the finish and what a finish it was: Bonnie Tyler, Total Eclipse of the Heart. What else?

To be honest I’m still not quite sure what happened next. Sheer ecstasy? Crazy displays of passion you never show anyone other than your reflection? But the mixture of the booze and the joy that so many other people felt the power and pain of the words in the same way, just sent us all into an orgiastic frenzy. Head-banging ensued, as did passionate screaming.

But it was all for the love of that female DJ. She knew more than any other man what a woman really needed at the end of a boozy night, and it was definitely Bonnie Tyler, not a wet snog.

Ah Manchester, the cream of culture.