The LGBT social scene has always been pretty diverse, varying from town to town and offering both single-sex and mixed pubs and clubs.

That diversity was never made more clear to me than in early 1980, when I moved to Nottingham and began my first real exploration of ‘the scene’.

Despite being home to one of the largest LGBT populations in England, Nottingham was still somewhat under-served in terms of commercial venues. There was, for example, only one full-time gay club (‘Part Two’) with another venue, The Astoria, hosting ‘gay night’ on the first Monday of every month. The pub scene was just as limited: one long-standing pub, The Foresters Arms, was frequented mainly by lesbians. A newer venue, ‘Gatsby’s’, served a mainly gay male clientele – provided they kept to one particular bar and, as the landlady put it, didn’t offend the “normal” clients.

And then there was ‘The Hearty Goodfellow’, which offered a downstairs bar for gay men and an upstairs room for a weekly lesbian disco. Needless to say, I never went to the lesbian disco but did visit the downstairs bar on one or two occasions. In true 1950’s style, discretion was the order of the day: in order to get to the bar it was necessary to go down two flights of stairs. At the bottom of the first flight of stairs was a little sign that read ‘Private Party’ – the main strategy for keeping out anyone other than those ‘in the know’. It looked like it had been there for many years and it was hard not to wonder whether it actually had any real effect – particularly since someone changed the wording to ‘Private Parts’ at some point and it remained unchanged throughout the seven years I lived in Nottingham!

Having passed the non-existent hurdle that was the ‘Parts’ sign, one then continued down the second staircase into the bar to be greeted by the inquiring looks of the patrons. It was as if Gay Liberation had never happened.

And then, in February 1980, I met a man who took me to ‘Heaven’ in London. Billed as London’s first gay mega-club it had been open for less than three months prior to our visit. And, to borrow a phrase from Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’, I knew I wasn’t in Nottingham any more!

From the minute I stepped through the front door I was astonished by what I can only describe as its brazenness. The first thing I noticed were the door men. Big and burly, I had no idea as to whether or not they were gay, but I did pick up a real sense that they were there to look out for us customers, rather than smirk or sneer at ‘the poofs’ like some of the door men in Nottingham.

The foyer, with its many posters of hunky, semi-clad men advertising whatever it was they were advertising (who cared!), declared Heaven to be a venue for gay men – not a straight venue that allowed us in once in a while as long as we spent money and behaved ourselves. And I’d never seen such a huge dance floor! Heaving with men, it just seemed to go on forever: I swear that I couldn’t see the other side.

But the ‘piece de resistance‘ had to be the loos! The place was decked out with disco lights, pulsing in time to the…piped classical music! Even now I occasionally wonder if I imagined that bit but I’m pretty certain I didn’t. Had it been disco music I’m sure it would have drowned out the sounds of the men having sex in the toilet cubicles.

Once my senses had recovered from the initial shock of the disco lights I then noticed the urinals. They were essentialy incorporated into a full on water feature; backed with mirrors that ran floor-to-ceiling along with a constant stream of water. It was certainly unlike anything I’ve ever seen before (and, I have to say, it’s a bit of a strange experience ‘peeing at yourself’!)

Indeed, this multi-reflective, disco-lit, classically-tuned environment made me feel like such a country bumpkin. I vowed I’d never complain about the Hearty Goodfellow again!