IT’S MANY, many years since I darkened the doors of a nightclub.

Some might say this betrays my age. But the truth of it is that since contracting a virus which damaged my inner ear 12 years ago I have to avoid places with thumping music, flashing lights, disco balls, laser shows and disorientating mirrors.

I won’t say it’s brought my social life to an end as I was never that fond of nightclubs anyway, but it makes certain situations difficult – like Christmas nights out, charity balls, going to see Green Day, watching Bond movies at the cinema or, in fact, any movie made in the past decade.

And now I can add shopping for teenage clothes to the list.

Last week we went in search of a new winter coat for Secondborn and found ourselves in a branch of a major clothing chain.

Outside it was a crisp, cold but sunny winter’s day. Inside the lighting was subdued to the point of semi-darkness; the highly polished floor and glass gave the impression of entering a house of mirrors, and we were greeted at the door by a wall of sound.

“I think we’re in a nightclub,” I said to the Man-in-Charge. There was even a DJ at the foot of the staircase leading to the coat section.

Fortunately, I had a pair of foam ear plugs in my pocket – I rarely go anywhere without them because I just never know when I’m going to need them.

We felt our way around the rails, momentarily losing each other in the gloom and confusion of mirrors, but were unable to locate a coat of sufficient style and quality.

The Man found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. “Did you see that girl’s shoes. They must have had 12 inch heels,” he said. “How can she walk in them?”

In our sensible shoes, woolly hats and scarves we felt as uncomfortable as a pair of fur seals in a furriers.

“I never liked nightclubs,” I commented to The Man as we retreated from the surreal landscape of sparkling sweaters, built-up shoes and LED backlit displays. “But I guess that’s how companies like this keep unfashionable and old people like me out of their stores.”