It’s a Saturday in 1973 in a hall above the Co-op.
The mobile disco is being carried up the stairs.
It is the shape and size of a large coffin.
The DJ is wearing a cheesecloth shirt and flairs.

The event is an evening wedding reception.
A stage in the corner is just eight inches high.
Just two tables, a chair and a 13amp socket.
The DJ tells the best man that he’ll get by.

Boxes of 45s and a flashing light machine.
Double sockets attached to extension cables.
One mic and a set of cheap headphones.
The decks span both tables.

45s are labelled ‘get them ups’, ‘old favourites’, and ‘slowies’.
The bar shutter opens and a disorderly queue forms.
The hall lights dim as the DJ throws the mains.
Stability is regained as the electricity re-conforms.

He is apprehensive as the floor has lots of bounce.
He sees ties around heads and jackets already removed.
Some kids slide on their knees across the floor.
He hopes the singles he wants to play are well grooved.

Background music is on to soothe those at the bar.
The coloured lights are on a slow and steady display.
Beer drips from pint glasses being carried to tables.
There’s a rather long table at the back for the buffet.

Lagers and gin and tonics soon fill those tables.
Ladies take off shoes as a prerequisite for dancing.
The DJ has the first single lined up ready to go,
When he can see a drunken lady advancing.

‘Can you put on some Tamla to start’, she says.
He replaces Tie a Yellow Ribbon with the Jackson 5.
The night is underway; the dancefloor is engulfed.
An older man soon shouts, ‘Can you stick on a Jive’.

Cum On Feel the Noise and Crocodile Rock follow.
These keep them dancing and singing madly.
However, it goads the floor to bounce even more.
The stylus is jumping off the records badly.

Ten pence pieces are placed on the arm of the deck.
This proves a helpful but temporary solution.
The stylus stays on the records at least.
But now each record has a slower revolution.

There are shouts that T-Rex are playing too slow,
And Elton John is sounding rather drunk.
The DJ says ‘You can’t have it both ways’,
And plays new music from the US called punk.

Lights go on and covering paper removed; it’s time the buffet.
A drunken best man makes a grab for the microphone.
‘Thank you all for coming, the buffet is open he shouts’.
The rush of humans toward the food is full blown.

The salad is untouched but sausage rolls become scarce.
Much older relatives are seeking hot cups of tea.
The best man suggests a vodka and lime instead,
And invites a grandma to sit on his knee.

The end of the night is nigh and the slowies are on.
A large circle forms and I Did it My Way is sung.
You’ll Never Walk Alone is the last record played’
But sadly the DJ has made a slip of the tongue.

Not knowing the bride’s relatives are Evertonians
He’s rather loudly shouted ‘Up the Mighty Reds’.
As luck would have it the best man supports Liverpool,
Otherwise the DJ would have been torn to shreds.