Sometimes you should just call it quits. After a successful night of ligging, we decided to move to Moles. I really wanted to move to moles. I was hoping to be rejuvenated by a club packed of people desperately trying to suck whatever life they can from a dull Thursday night. It turns out, if these people were ever there, they decided that trying to suck life out of it just sucked, and sodded off home.

What they left behind was a husk of a club, and everything I dread may happen when I go to an Indie venue. Dance-floor peppered with ageing flesh moving spasmodically to something that perhaps meant something to them once. It's not the expression that bothers - it's the desperation, the laziness. If you're going to dance, then dance.

So when Steve suggested we go onto the perennial Delf, I thought why not. Yes, I hate most of the people there, but was in the mood for distraction. Get in just as a six-way fight is kicking off, and shoudl have took the hint and walked straight out. Instead I stay for a tedious drink, some idle chatter and the inevitable piss before sodding off.

While I'm waiting for my partner in crime, the DJ's mix slowly slides Daft Punk's "Around The World" in, slowly emerging from the mist. And as it does so, with the determined twitch of the chorus kicking in on the tiny dancefloor, a sprinkling of girls slowly... rotate. Spontaneously. Not spin or anything - just an elegant turn that takes at least five seconds to make its way the full three-sixty. And it's beautiful.

Sometimes it only takes the tiniest thing to justify your time.