The Guide’s former club columnist (who hated clubbing) reflects on the shifts in dance culture and hopes for a renaissance in revelry

The Guide only offered me the clubs column because they knew I hated clubs. And in 1993, there was plenty to loathe. Coke-encrusted super sheds, packed high with helmet hair-era David Beckhams, sweating lakes of Opium Pour Homme; Kathy Lloyd wannabes teetering on the edge of stiletto abyss, Sasha playing his phoned-in Lighthouse Family remix before jetting back to Hades.

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