IF you’re a long time reader of this blog, you’ll remember the great Britney Breakdown of 2015. Just like the 90’s Ra, she hasn’t gone away either – as I was on another scundering adventure in Belfast on Friday night. Step forward the wonder that is Planet Smick in The Bot followed by Shit Disco in the Limelight.

Planet Smick is a club night run by The Notorious Barrack Boys. They embrace all that’s funny about West Belfast life and have a zero fucks filter to serious issues. Their comedy is often brutal but necessary in this day and age.

Me and Louise are forever wandering into bars full of twenty something young men and looking like them two aul dolls from Harry Enfield. On Friday, I don’t know who was more awkward, us or them. Lads, that was us beside the bar all night, we weren’t from city council dipping the vodka in case you were wondering.

After a couple of drinks and a few shots, we were dancing harder and rave fingering faster than they were. We seemed to have created a pensioners corner whereby the slightly older smicks stood beside us.

I don’t know what DJ was playing but we appreciated Da Hool’s Love Parade and Camisra Let Me Show You. These young ones may have been born after Ta Lockeys was razed to the ground but they revived its spirit with reckless abandon.

To see some girl take a selfie wearing a balaclava brought on a bit of PTSD as we are of the age where balaclavas in clubs means someone is leaving with one behind the ear. I never thought there would come a time when people would be immune to the memories of the troubles. I guess you had to be there at the time, to have known doormen and suspected drug dealers who’d been shot dead – to see why the balaclava posse is freaky as hell. But it’s the whole modern day piss take of 90’s sub culture, warts and all. The kids do not give a flying fuck.

The outfits were class, the effort was strong. The girls went full millbag and the boys did what smicks do, jumping around wielding bottles of Buckfast. It was hard to tell who was in cosplay and who just didn’t even bother getting changed to come out. I asked some wee fella if he was a real smick or dressed up and he practically ran away. He had to be a real one, his speech was muffled and he shit his kecks when an adult asked him a question.

After a long wait due to the piss poor taxi situation in Belfast, we went round to the Limelight. Had a bit of a dance with some dirty hippies and then headed back up to the West where the proper smicks are. But that’s me definitely off it, I’m a nun now and joining the pioneers.

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