Are there any good pubs in Harrogate ?

A friend of mine has invited me to a hefty sounding night out in Yorkshire and this has really sent my head down memory lane again. I did 2 separate 6 month stints at a quiet little communications base near Harrogate called H.M.S. Forest Moor, the first in ‘94 the second in ’96. The personnel on a base like that change round frequently and so the vibe on the base was quite different between the two visits, but the town stayed very much the same both times. I loved Harrogate night life, The pubs were great, the clubs were fun and the kebabs were large. The best thing about Harrogate were the people though, I think I’ve always quite liked Yorkshire folk, hard, blunt, unforgiving but very warm and welcoming to strangers; they may well decide very quickly whether or not they like you and have no issue with letting you know their decision, but at least they give you a chance and decide for themselves, not what someone else tells them. There was no automatic dislike of the Navy lads like you got in Portsmouth, nor was there the same apathy and lack of interest as there was in Plymouth (though it has to be said I really loved Plymouth, I still do). The Harrogate locals were every bit as daft and beer friendly, up for making fools of themselves and ready to party as most sailors that I’ve met.

Sticking a small group of sailors here was inspired. We could carry on and do all the daft things that we liked on a night out, talk to as many people as we wanted and make absolute prats of ourselves without ever ( well nearly) finding some bitter local coming swinging for a fight, or getting thrown out of Carringtons for falling asleep. It was in this old Spa town that I first worked out that the old myth is true, women really can be laughed into bed by lads that don’t take themselves too seriously, but only if that lad also happens to be good looking. I theorised that for someone that looks like me to make a women laugh so much that she suggests a night cap I was going to have to make some real big money as well. I first came upon this truth when Wigfield started singing about her Saturday nights. I quickly noticed that whenever this was played, as it was – often, all the men disappeared from view headed to the bar, whilst the girls stayed up and laughed as they danced. I’ve never feared a little mocking from my peers so I promptly watched and studied the dance moves (childhood Saturdays at Dawn Denman’s Dance School not wasted after all), in no time at all I’d worked them out – it’s not as if they were complicated. In about 4 songs time it was on again and up I went, what a laugh, the moves I was pulling were out of sight, clearly I was born for this. The ladies were impressed; you could see them looking, pointing and laughing. Some of the girls were shaking their heads in disbelief at how long they had waited for someone like me to turn up, I imagine. I came off the dance floor feeling good, the lads were impressed but I think the women must have been a little too intimidated to come and talk to me, I made a mental note to tone it down a bit next time, maybe just the one 360 spin between claps. One of my mates in particular had seen the potential of it though, and so it was that in the middle of a large HF receiver site the next day, I spent 20 minutes teaching a 6 foot 6 muscle bound, chisel jawed, blue eyed lady magnet how to do this rubbish dance. That night we were back and several beers later we were stood chatting when that memorable start to the record played out. The two of us jumped up and got dancing; to be honest I was a little disappointed with my protégé, I don’t think he had been paying full attention during his lesson. On two occasions I noticed my friend turn left instead of right, he clapped instead of just waving his arms and frankly his front lunges were appalling, even with a toned down shimmy I was still leagues ahead of him, the sequins I’d spent an hour sewing onto my jeans were sparkling in the disco lights. Slowly I noticed myself being danced to the side of the floor by the girls who were desperately trying to cop an eyeful of the man with the Hollywood looks’ sense of humour.

Some time later in Naples I finalised my thesis whilst out wearing a dress. Women are no different to men after all, funny is funny but phwoarr is everything. The three of us had wound up dressed as women, as you do, in the bar. Within minutes John and I were sat lighting our Sambucas by ourselves as a swarm of ladies crowded round our fit Army pal telling him how important a sense of humour was to them and how great it was to meet a man who can laugh at himself whilst squeezing his biceps and pinching his tight Army backside. Carl spent the rest of his tour wearing that dress and never stopped smiling.

So the question I’m slowly working my way towards is should I go back in time and head out to the Harrogate pubs when I’m nothing like the boy I was then? I worry that trying to recapture my youth will only wind up depressing me. It won’t be the same hitting the Smirnoff in The Dungeon if it’s now a Gastro Pub. There’s no point going to Montpellier if Gyrating Jeff the dancing DJ pensioner is no longer with us. More importantly, I’ve changed; I’ll be walking around asking if there are any family friendly pubs in Harrogate, worrying if Wetherspoon’s toilets will be clean, when exactly did I start caring if a pub toilet is clean anyway? If we go for something to eat will I be ordering garlic bread the second I reach my seat and checking to see if there are any sugar free drinks included with my main? I’m so out of practice being out on the tiles that I can’t even remember if I drink Lager or Bitter, can anyone reading this let me know please? Whilst I make my mind up as to what I’m going to do, I think I’d better Google the dance steps for Saturday Night as I have forgotten those too.