We believed we’d got our timing just about right as we arrived at precisely 11.30pm. “Try and look as young as you can,” I said to Brad as we approached the drab converted warehouse that now housed the club. “We’ll probably be the oldest ones here, barring the owner.” Brad’s eagerness to ‘get down and boogie’ meant he reached the nightspots big red door several paces ahead of me. “That’s odd,” he said. “There’s a note here saying something.” A beat later I caught up with my friend, and I read the sign that had halted his progress. “That’s weird,” I said. “It says it doesn’t open until midnight.” “Midnight?” queried Brad. “That’s what’s written here.” To us this seemed most odd. We weren’t in Paris now. We were in a distinctly rural part of France where the entertainment options appeared to be minimal. Where the hell were all the disco’s potential clientele right now?
What do You think about 2006 - A Piano In The Pyrenees?
