Ten things you’ll remember about school discos

My son’s invite to the Easter school disco got me thinking about the school discos of my childhood. Here’s what I remember about throwing shapes at the social event of the academic year…


What are you going to wear???? Since the moment the disco was announced, this topic dominated every lunchtime conversation. Individuality was a dirty word. You HAD to dress exactly the same as your friends.



These bad boys.  You didn’t know their name. They didn’t quench your thirst. You didn’t give a damn. You could buy ten for £1. Plus, the e-number high was practically PTA-subsidised dutch courage. Although the blue-tongue situation was an unfortunate side effect.



Teachers wearing their civvies. Wtf? If we can’t call you by your first name, what makes you think you can wear jeans in front of us without it being weird?



The Great Dancefloor Divide. Boys and girls spending 80% of the evening at opposite ends of the room – both sexes secretly hoping the other would close up the chasm. [Meanwhile, the boys would perfect their knee-skids in peacock displays of manliness].


“Dee Dee na na na…” The excitement of hearing Whigfield’s siren call at the start of ‘Saturday night’. Your cue to leap up with the girls and put those well-honed moves into practice. The pleasure could only be dampened by the mortification of jumping left while everyone else took a right.



The smoke machine. Proper live special FX. Used far too sparingly for our liking but always a treat. (Although never quite so much fun for asthmatics).

smoke machine


The headbanging breakout.  Somewhere in between the Mariah hits and the slowies, the DJ would whack on Guns ‘n’ Roses’ so we could flail our hair like maniacs and give ourselves an instant migraine.



Gossiping in the toilets. Warming us up nicely for our underage clubbing days (where gossiping and crying would become interchangeable loo-based activities).


The slowies. Please ask. Please ask. Pleeeeaaaase ask. Shit. Shit. SHIT. He’s coming OVER!!!!



The disappointment of the lights going up at the end. Hot, sweaty, on a high. You danced all night like you were in the cast of Fame. 3, 2, 1, click… and you’re back in the sports hall.


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