BARKING MAD

IF I don't go out dancing at least once a fortnight, I'm useless. This has not made Dublin an easy place for me to live since I come from a city where finding a large, dark, throbbing building full of hundreds of strangers dancing to cutting-edge grooves is as easy as finding a hot dog.

I've seen bathtubs bigger than many of the dancefloors here and had more elbowroom in my 1978 Buick Le Sabre than in any of the Leeson St. clubs I've been to. And that was with seven other people in the car.

While the upstairs area of the Rock Garden is not exactly palatial, it has - with Thursday night's rather splendid Kennel Club - provided my reprieve from otherwise unsatisfactory dancing experiences.

It's full but not uncomfortable. There are regulars as well as new faces every week. DJs Patrick and Stephen (Hi guys! Yes, this is a plug that you didn't ask for.) lure you onto the floor with familiar tracks before slipping in the unknown. The unknown becomes the familiar after a few visits.

Whether it's house, funk, soul, techno, hip hop or more standard alternative fare, you'll find me grooving away, working up a sweat, and strangely enough, enjoying the intimacy of the club whereas I used to crave the lost-in-the-crowd anonymity of New York dance houses.

Inevitably, I stay to the end, best intentions of an early night and fresh rise out the window with the first notes of 'Temple Head'. I head home at closing time, thinking about next Thursday - wondering whether I'll be able to make it down again next week.

I usually find a way.

• Tara McCarthy