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BANGED UP ABROAD: HELLHOLE

Crystals was our favourite nightclub and we went there most weekends, as the booze was cheap and you always had a decent chance of getting your leg over. It was pretty much your standard British meat market.

As soon as we walked in that night, a bloke at the bar caught my eye. He was an old mate of ours called Luke, but I hardly recognised the man who stood before me.

I'd last seen Luke in Crystals about four months before. He'd always been a bit of a pikey and looked scruffy, dressing in cheap clobber from Tesco or somewhere. But there he was, dressed in an Armani suit and box-fresh Nikes, with plenty of bling jewellery. He'd totally changed the way he looked - he had to be living the high life.

He'd obviously been abroad, as he was tanned and looked healthy; you don't get that working down a scrap yard in Leicester. He was flashing money around at the bar, standing huge rounds of drinks for everybody, and I thought how nice it must be to wake up with money in your pocket, rather than grinding out an existence for pittance in a crap job.

But it wasn't just the money. This new Luke oozed confidence. The way he carried himself; it was like he'd become a celebrity. People wanted to be around him, both blokes and girls. He just had that air about him. Right there on the spot, I knew I wanted a piece of it.

Paul and I nervously shuffled towards him and we got talking.