‘Is there a surcharge for height?’ I shouted.

He opened his palm and examined the change. ‘And a luxury tax, it seems.’

Jakob leaned forward and shouted, a little less loudly: ‘Be honest. Aren’t we a bit old for this?’

We looked around.

We were definitely at the top end of the age scale. Most of the girls would have preferred to dance with other girls than with us. The noise from the sound system was ear-piercing, penetrated our bones and rocked us back and forth, from side to side, back and forth, side to side, in a way that aged us prematurely, 23pursued us to the bottom of our beer glasses and back to the bar for another. We were like terrified aquarium fish in a pool reserved for sharks.

On the street again, the queue of young people laughing at us behind our backs, Finckel immediately admitted his mistake. ‘Sorry, boys. I misread their ID. I should’ve scrutinised their dates of birth more carefully. Wax Cabinet next. That’s where our ladies hang out …’

But when we arrived at the place known locally as the Wax Cabinet, what Finckel called our ladies were already in action.

We squeezed onto a table for two beneath a palm tree covered with artificial snow and subjected the room to our searching gazes.

At least they were doing dances we knew the steps to. A three-piece band with a beat box and keyboard sang ‘Fjellveivisen’, a Bergensian love song, with a swing rhythm and an Italian accent. The vocalist was definitely from Knarvik, but his two colleagues more likely hailed from Naples than Nordnes.

‘You know what they call that keyboard, or remote keyboard, as it’s known technically, don’t you?’

‘No, tell us.’

‘A chick-catcher. After they came onto the market, they made it easier for the pianist to pick up girls from the stage.’

‘I can feel the mike’s calling you,’ Finckel grinned.

Jakob shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Not anymore. It’s when I see and hear stuff like this I’m happy we stopped when we did.’

‘How long did you keep going?’ I asked.

‘Until the mid-seventies.’

‘Johnny’s still at it,’ Finckel said.

Jakob grinned wryly. ‘Johnny was different from the rest of us. For him there were only two options: going on or hitting’ – he pointed to the floor – ‘rock bottom.’24

‘Why did you stop?’ I asked.

His eyes moved in my direction, snatched a quick look and then carried on. ‘We … just stopped.’

‘Waiter!’ Finckel shouted with a hand raised.

A small, dumpy waiter with dark curls and thick horn-rimmed glasses gave us a grease-stained menu each and left us to study our exotic culinary travels for ten minutes before returning to note down our destinations. After ordering we went back to our beers.

Our ladies were still in action. They were dancing like young girls. What was sad about them was that they danced like young girls had done thirty years before. If they had gone to the place we had just left, they would have been regarded as ancient relics of the Silurian period. But they knew they had passed their prime and were enjoying themselves.