Not on my watch

Let me start this by taking you back in time, it’s 1999, almost 2000, and I am in a blue Ford Escort 1.2L with four of my mates. We are on a mission, the summer night air is feeding into an electric atmosphere in the car as we motor towards our promised land. The designated driver is doing his job, looking cool and cruising us to our venue for an amazing night out.

The soundman in front is keeping a heady mix of pumping tunes going from the tape player and occasionally dropping the volume so one of us can share our unrealistic expectations for the night; oh, it was so good.

We cruised into Chelmsford in Essex, and boy, did we look the business, like five absolute bosses. The smell of Cool Water mixed with Joop must have been noxious to anyone who walked past us, but we didn’t care, this night was made for us. I had gone for my usually combination, smart jeans, Ellesse Boots (with the tag) and a check Ben Sherman shirt (tea towel design.) A few guys were sporting the Timberland®s ...