SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION

The most enjoyable nights out I've ever had have begun with the words, "Ah alright, just a couple of pints, then we'll get the last bus home."

The amount of planning that goes into an evening tends to be inversely proportionate to the amount of fun one is going to have. Leave the house after carefully concocting a twelve-hour scheme of rollicking sensory adventure and you'll wake up next morning with all your money spent, a crushing hangover imminent, tequila stains decorating your dress and the awful knowledge that you snogged someone you can't stand anyway simply to while away the most boring evening of your life. Alternatively, go out fully expecting to be tucked up in your bed within four hours and chances are that next Wednesday they'll still be trying to coerce you down from that table top on which you're dancing.

It follows that the choice of public house in which to launch your evening should be decided on the spur of the moment. I tend to avoid establishments where you have to queue to get in, where there are bouncers on the door, or where impromptu trad sessions are likely. Other than that, any place will do nicely, especially if they've got Bulmers on draught. The jukebox in The International can definitely help put you in the right mood, especially if you manage to get there before those long haired blokes in the corner have programmed it to play 'Bohemian Rhapsody' and the entire Guns 'n' Roses back catalogue.

The next stop usually involves one of the following: live music, crap disco, some club that's currently trendy, or food. Food is often a good idea at this stage - a couple of Eddie Rocket's chocolate milk shakes, for instance, produce an invigorating sugar high and help restore your faculties long enough to get you to your next destination without falling down a manhole. Late night live music has been getting scarce around Dublin recently, though there's always the Rock Garden, if it's a non-club night. One of those 'alternative' style discos in McGonagles or Fibbers might have been my next port of call a few years ago, when being a good dancer meant possessing the ability to push your friends around to 'Alternative Ulster'.

I still can't dance, so these days I tend to favour dodgy 'discotheques'; the kind where you can get in free for being a woman, for getting there before a certain hour, or sometimes just for still being able to walk. One of the most hilarious nights out I've had in months took place in a Niteklub thingy, close to my home, that used to advertise itself with a jingle boasting "Disco, lights and sound!" (This, I gather, was to distinguish it from all those discos that are completely silent and dark.)

The advantages of this kind of place are that you don't have to look cool or prove your celebrity status at the door, can dance (badly) till you finally fall asleep in the corner, and can buy reasonably priced drink. The music will be desperate, and there won't be anyone there you'd consider touching without surgical gloves, but go in the right spirit and it can be a blast.

After that, the choices are limited. Lillie's for the famous, Leeson Street for the rest of us, and taxis home for the faint-hearted. You could, of course, always find an all-night restaurant or a comfy doorway and wait till the pubs open again . . .

• Lorraine Freeney