There was a set routine down our town,
Observed most Saturday nights.
We started off up Baileys,
Then down town towards the lights.
First it was the Murrenger,
Newport’s oldest pub,
Then a quick one in The GreyHound
Before we’d head onto a club.
It used to be called Brooklyn
Heights, then something else as well,
It ended up as Zanzibar,
The difference I can’t tell.
Cos it was Rudi’s back in the day,
When we were only seventeen,
Same routine before hand,
But more casual, less preened.
It only seems like yesterday,
And the rose tint will fade fast,
But I can’t help but think fondly.
Of those nights out of the past.