In the mid-1980s, as a Black teenager from a Battersea council estate, pubs were not part of my life. To my mind, they were where white men got drunk and abused people like me. My friends and I were more interested in music and house parties. But after enrolling at Richmond College, we discovered the Dome, a pub less than a mile from our estate that became a gateway to a different world.
The Dome, officially called the Roebuck, had a striking domed roof and was allegedly a meeting spot for the Sex Pistols in the 1970s. To us, it seemed the height of Thatcherite hedonism. There, we mingled with the wild children of the wealthy, flirting and learning about parties. It felt like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but for attractive women.
On our estates, youth culture was divided between 'raggas', influenced by Jamaican culture, and 'trendies' like us, who were into jazz-funk and rare groove. We were often ridiculed for our flamboyant clothes and relaxed hair. But crossing from Battersea to Chelsea, we went from being 'freaky' boys to 'edgy cool Black guys from across the road'.
Seeing wealthy people up close widened my horizons and broke down mental barriers. I'm still friends with many I met there. Realising that 'successful' people are as flawed as we were has served me well ever since.
