NIGHTCLUB supremo Margo Grimshaw claims the boozy culture in Blackburn makes her want to shut up shop, while middle-aged people say they avoid the town centre at night. But police believe folk have nothing to be afraid of. Chief reporter DAVID HIGGERSON spent Saturday night in Blackburn to see what goes on after dark. . .

THE dream of creating a 'continental' feel in Blackburn is one the council is actively pursuing for the daytime.

But Blackburn on this Saturday night smacked of the type of British excess seen in European hotspots.

Yes, it's true the behaviour of the majority of people out drinking was well within the bounds of acceptability. But a very significant and easily spotted minority provided an extremely unedifying sight.

At times their antics were more like what we have seen on TV from Ibiza, Magaluf and Falaraki.

And despite assurances Blackburn is not a violent place at night, it is not a place for the faint-hearted.

9.30pm

Church Street is the place to start. Along with Darwen Street, it has become a crazy car park of taxis and minibuses, all spewing carefully-coiffured, immaculately dressed revellers at various points.

Like the holiday islands, starting late is the norm - after a good hour in front of the mirror for both lads and lasses.

For the men, it's dark shirts and trousers, for teenage boys it's white shirts and faded jeans. All shirts are uniformly 'unbuttoned' and the hair options are simple: designer scruffy or shaved.

For the girls, less appears to be more. Tight tops, short skirts and high heels, with the rule of thumb for doormen in Church Street seemingly 'the higher the heels, the younger the girl.'

For one young blonde, teetering on heels outside Marley's, that means hanging around on the streets while her mates get in.

The loud, pumping dance music coming from the three bars suggests Blackburn has woken up and lads wander between them, bottles of trendy beer in hand.

Is the street drinking ban working? Not when no one's there to enforce it.

One opportunist street seller tries in vain to sell flashing plastic baby-style dummies on string to party-goers.

10.15pm

We spy the first casualty of the evening. A teenaged girl crouches in the street next to C'est La Vie with her finger down her throat.

"Come on, bring it up," one of her friends says. "We're supposed to be meeting the lads in Northgate. Get it out and you'll be fine."

Welcome to Saturday night, Blackburn-style.

And around the corner, the first arrest of the night. Police appear out of nowhere to break up a fight in Higher Church Street.

A man is pinned to the floor by police as his friends argue with other officers.

11pm

A cardboard palm tree appears outside King George's Hall. Suddenly, Northgate is now the place to be.

To anyone used to drinking in a town centre, it's as friendly as it gets. To anyone not used to seeing people shouting, chanting and in some cases screeching, it's easy to see why it could be intimidating. Young lads in cars cruise around the Northgate area, winding down their windows to wolf-whistle girls.

One dejected young girl in the high heels gets a lot of attention - she's waiting outside Bar Moist, refused entry once again.

11.30pm

A second wave of drinkers descend on the town centre and with it the mood changes.

They've been drinking in pubs in the suburbs and want to carry on in town.

Lads and lasses, slightly less well-dressed but with considerably more alcohol inside them, bail out of taxis in Northgate.

The town is slightly more on edge. To this end, a van full of policemen pulls up under the statue on Northgate, watching what's going on. Officers mingle with the crowd. Girls give the male PCs plenty of attention.

And as quickly as they awoke, the Church Street bars are once again dead. All that's left is a pool of vomit.

The dummy seller spots this, and moves to Northgate.

Midnight

Three hours of drinking alcopops and premium strength lager - "I don't drink Fosters," shouts one white-shirted man to mate, as thought it asserts his masculinity - seems to be taking its toll on Blackburn's well-dressed. An extra button is undone on most shirts, and walking in a straight line appears to be a problem.

Flashing dummies around their neck act as a warning to drivers that someone could be about to walk blindly in front of them.

There's a good hour of drinking here yet. But for the girl in the heels, the night is over already. She's given up, and is trying to hail a cab home.

Around the corner, a girl of a similar age sits with her head in her hands. Too much, too soon, it appears.

1am

A second black police van has appeared in Northgate, and officers watch over the street with the door open.

Then they bundle a group of drunks into the back of a van while other officers begin patrolling on foot around St Peter Street, home of Jumpin' Jak's.

Straddlers from wedding parties pull up on Northgate, with balloons attached.

But more people are now leaving than arriving.

1.30am

The takeaways around Darwen Street get busier.

The crowd previously dominated by large groups is now peppered with couples. A lot of boy-girl pairing has gone on during the course of the night.

More buttons are undone on the designer lads and some of these pairings disappear into Fleming Square.

Gangs of lads go to urinate together in the cathedral grounds, which ensures an unpleasant odour for those coming into town on Sunday morning worship in just a few hours.

In Richmond Terrace, one lad urinates into a flower bed, then attempts to fall asleep in it.

Failing, he stumbles to his feet and carries on.

2am

Bedlam on Darwen Street.

Jumpin Jak's closes for the night, as does Club Tropicana, in Northgate, and everyone descends on Darwen Street, either looking for a cab or a kebab.

The police are now here in force.

Drunks - many now with shirts undone completely - stagger out into the road, trying to wave down anything with four wheels. It's a battle of wills between drivers and swaying pedestrians, who in the main are suffering from nothing more than high spirits.

Girls, seemingly wearing less than earlier in the evening, promise all sorts to drivers for a lift home. They don't seem to care whether they're getting into a cab or not. It's frightening.

The road is clogged with taxis pulling up left, right and centre. It's a mind-boggling mix of happy, sad, frustrated and angry people all trying to get home.

For some, the takeaway is too much - so they regurgitate it onto the street.

In Mincing Lane, a 20-something woman gets a cheer when she takes off her top and runs round a car park.

The police just pass by.

In Northgate, two couples draw a crowd after they begin attempting sexual intercourse on car bonnets in front of the magistrates' court.

With the police now in Darwen Street, they just get on with it.

4 am

In the grey light of dawn, Darwen Street is covered in bottles, flyers and takeaway wrappers.

Bins overflow.

Chips float in vomit, starting to congeal on the very stone pavements the council has paid so much for to improve the look of the street.

For the cleaners, the mopping up exercise is only just beginning.