From the sublime to the ridiculous

I paid a visit to Nottingham's quasi-legendary Irish Centre on Friday night. For the uninitiated, going to the Irish is like being an uninvited guest stumbling in upon the latter stages of a wedding reception: lots of "mature" and outstandingly intoxicated individuals swaying or dancing tremendously badly to 80s and 90s pop and indie records played by a DJ untroubled by much in the way of taste and by anything in the way of fashion, all in a venue which resembles a Scout hut fitted with a mobile disco. Sophistication is not the word. Disappointingly, on this occasion the DJ failed to take note of any of my requests, hastily scrawled on the scrap of notepaper provided: so, no 'Geno' by Dexys, no 'Inbetween Days' by The Cure, no 'Freak Like Me' by Sugababes, no 'Groove Is In The Heart' by Dee-Lite and nothing by The Clash. We did, however, get further confirmation (as if it was needed) that the DJ's sense of irony is either staggeringly underdeveloped or razor-sharp (I'm still not sure which) - 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' was followed immediately by Nickelback's 'How You Remind Me'. I smiled into my pint and waited for the next Kylie or Smiths track.