Lanarkshire Lights (1984–1991)

We came of age beneath neon glow,
Where jukebox dreams and discos flow,
In smoky rooms where laughter stayed,
Our youth was lived, not just replayed.

Blantyre Victoria the humble start,
Cheap pints, bold hearts, and dancing’s art. Rascals called us, wild and free,
With beats that pulsed like destiny.

Ziegfeld’s shimmered, full of flair,
Mirror balls and backcombed hair. Bananas, mad and full of cheer,Where every Friday drew us near.

Style was gospel, threads were king, We dressed to slay, not just to fling.

From Lesley G’s with casual cool,
Warehouse looks that broke the rule.And when the night required some grace, Skint the Tailor set the pace,

Union Street, bespoke and bold,
That suit that said, “I’m in control.”

Then Hamilton called the next-level game, Park Lane’s rhythm, 3 D’s name.

Flash of lights and crowded floors, A fashion parade through velvet doors.

And then, the peak, we’d made the climb, To Rocco’s pose and perfect time.

Gelled-up hair and tailored fit,
Swaggering in like we owned it.

From ’84 to ’91, Those nights we lived, those risks we’d run. No phones, no posts, just nights that glowed, On crowded floors where memories flowed.

Lanarkshire’s lights, they burn so bright,
Etched in our souls, each Friday night.
We grew, we danced, we made our way,
And still remember every sway.

J. J. Whelan