Donna Summer was telling me that enough is enough (is it ever?) and Amii Stewart was extolling the virtues of knocking on wood. Marvellous.
It's fair to say that at least half of the clientele remembered the eighties and a good quarter the seventies too. The room was full of handsome, hot, manly men, all lip-synching along to La Summer as she sings 'goodbye Mister...goodbye'.
The disco classics continued for at least two hours. Hilarious. We ran the gauntlet of the camp, kitsch and classy - everything from 'I'm coming out' to 'Young hearts, run free'. I haven't seen a place as happy and as alive as that club last night - it was hot, sweaty and a whole lot of fun. It's amazing, the fun that men can have when they leave their wives at home, he he.
Going out on a Saturday night here in Paris is a late affair - there's not much point leaving the house before 11pm, so I had some time to cook, eat and watch some TV. It's not something I ever really watch, but I caught an episode of the Sopranos before heading out.
This morning, as I said goodbye to the Italian guy from last night, I wondered if Tony Soprano had influenced my choice of, ahem, entertainment.
To be fair, he was no James Gandolfini but that's not all bad. He was handsome, funny and, erm, 'adventurous'. And he did have more than a little of the gangster about him.
I fully expect to be waking up with a horses head in bed with me very very soon....