The unusually gracious bouncer unhooked the velvet rope without batting an eyelid, although he was probably thinking it was time for our bedtime Ovaltine.
We were guinea pigs in what one wag described as a "Saga louts" or "grab-a-granny" night out. All on the cusp of 50 (and thus, strictly speaking, a little younger than the target market of 55-80), we had rolled up to the Tiger Tiger nightclub in the centre of Leeds, gagging to show off our new dance moves.
It was coming up to 10pm, still early, so we were ushered into the VIP lounge - another velvet rope, another welcoming bouncer. As we sipped our drinks amid an eclectic decor of bamboo and Arabian Nights-style lamps, Brenda, a bubbly 50 year old with short-cropped hair from York, admitted that she had last partied two years ago. Brenda was certainly up for the idea of clubbing, but not in her home town.
"I wouldn't want to bump into my children at the disco or the kids from school," she said, putting her finger on a key dilemma for the older partygoer - the embarrassment factor. If you're 50 and over, do you really want to get down with people literally half your age, or young enough to be your kids? Looking round the VIP lounge, we could not help but feel a wee bit out of place - a bunch of "funky fogies", as Marjorie called our group. As it turned out, we weren't the only old-timers there among what I took to be Leeds' trendy set (though I was later informed by my cool young colleagues that they wouldn't exactly describe Tiger Tiger as the cutting edge of British clubbing). Over at the next table, a couple of women well into their middle age in sharp outfits were clearly intent on partying.
The idea for the 55-80 clubbing break is the brainchild of Nigel Dibb, the general manager of the Village hotel club in Headingley, the student area of Leeds, who summed up the concept as the "right of the 50-plus to go out and have a damned good time".
The £150 package includes bed and breakfast at the Village, a tip sheet on how to be cool (assume a working knowledge of shows such as Big Brother, I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and pretend to know someone who has auditioned), a most useful glossary on different music styles: house (named after the Warehouse club in Chicago, subsequently shortened), garage (from the Paradise Garage club in New York in the late 80s) and so on.
Other features of the club 55-80 break include a fitness and grooming session in the health club and spa, involving a head massage that reminded me of Jesse Jackson's mantra - short-term pain, long-term gain. It hurt like hell at the time, but you feel great afterwards.
But the best preparation of all for our night out was a session with, Warren Hudson, a 30-year-old dance instructor. Warren, looking ultra cool with a long blue string vest, turned up with a ghetto blaster to teach us the latest dance moves. His advice before we got down to business was a pithy: "try to look cool, not a fool."
So there we were in an ornate Victorian chapel, with elaborately panelled wooden doors, stained glass windows and high ceilings, trying to wiggle our snake-like hips (I'm exaggerating here) and move our necks like an Egyptian to rap music. One useful tip Warren taught us: sticking our arms in the air like John Travolta was very dated.
No, the cool moves these days are brushing your shoulders as if you had dandruff - Warren's exact words - then stretching out your arms, both index fingers jabbing at the floor. Another cool move was to move both palms of your hands in front on you as if you're manipulating a couple of turntables (known as "decks"). We must have looked very silly, but we all enjoyed our lesson immensely. We were puffing and sweating after half an hour though, prompting someone to ask: "Is there anywhere to sit down at these clubs?"
Later at Tiger Tiger, in anticipation of our turn on the dance floor, I could not help but be struck by the irony of this little adventure. The invitation for the club break had arrived the very same week that Patricia Hewitt, the trade and industry secretary, had declared war on ageism in the workplace in accordance with some EU directive.
Well we were about to declare war on ageism in our small way in Tiger Tiger. And why not. My favourite nightclub of all time was a place called Kilimanjaro in Washington DC where my friends and I used to hang out in the 1980s. Located in Adams Morgan, the Latino neighbourhood of the city, Kilimanjaro played west-African music; long tracks with extended guitar solos backed by an infectious beat that lured people to the dance floor like lemmings.
Zebra skins adorned the walls, the ceilings were low, and it would get hot and steamy as a tropical jungle as the dancefloor filled to bursting point. The place was a great hit with west-African taxi drivers,or any Africans for that matter, as well as Washington's yuppies. The ethnic and age mix was one of the best things about Kilimanjaro.
Some of the best dancers were Africans in their 50s and 60s, all sinewy and subtle, with mouth-watering moves that put their younger counterparts to shame. They shimmied so economically and elegantly, rubbing against each other in the most outrageously sexy way. You enjoyed dancing and watching them at the same time. For a moment there in the cavernous Tiger Tiger club in Leeds, I was transported back to my Kilimanjaro days.
We were all downstairs now trying to remember some of the moves Warren taught us: the dandruff move, the decks. But it didn't really matter if we forgot, because we had the moves we had acquired in our youth. You never really forget them, do you? So there was Margaret, the self-described granny, bopping away as if she was a teenager. There was John, getting down, and there was I trying to bend my knees.
It wasn't the music we knew (Alex, one of our young chaperones, described it as quite traditional dance music) but it had enough of a beat to keep us pulsating, while the powerful air conditioning kept us cool - literally. In fact, we were all quite disappointed when Charlotte, our chief chaperone and all of 25, decided to call it a night at 12.30am. Brenda would have been quite happy to carry on with her knees-up, while John, her husband, was keen to go on to another club Warren had recommended, Creation. The invitation after all had offered the possibility of partying until 6!
But it was bedtime for the over-50s and a last-minute group photo outside. So we smiled for the cameras while some young clubbers looked at us as if we had landed from another planet. Despite their dubious looks, we had a great night on the town. As Charlotte said: "Just because you reach 50, there's no reason you have to play Scrabble every Saturday night."
Way to go
A Club 55-80 break, with professional dance lessons, a fitness and grooming session, pre-club briefing, and club entrance, costs £150 per person including B&B at the Village hotel and leisure club, Leeds. Tel: 0113 278 1000
