Run-Riot contributor Kerenza lets us in on her time-travel fantasies courtesy of some of the best 50s and 60s inspired attractions in London.

Anyone who knows me well is aware of my affection for the fifties and sixties. I once delivered a rant about how much I would have loved to be a 60s teen to a panel made up of Victoria Coren, Germaine Greer and Private Eye’s Dr Phil (this is not my normal audience I hasten to add; usually it is my friends. Or my dog.) While I am evidently no stranger to the events of Cuba, Vietnam and the other historical turmoil of that era, my affection rests mainly in the lighter aspects of the time – the music, the fashion and the recreational activities.

Abandoning my time machine after a mishap during its last use led me to an uncomfortable “situation” during the French Revolution (I’ll tell you about it over a glass of wine), I sought another means of recapturing those illustrious decades consisting of a trip to All Star Bowling Lanes in Holborn, the West End Production of Jersey Boys and a feast at Ed’s Diner of Soho.

Let’s start with the latter. Music volume levels are key in a place like this – you want them to be loud enough for the place to feel vibrant, but not so loud that it feels like Roy Orbison is sitting next to you, screaming into your ear (a recurring nightmare of mine). Ed’s certainly delivered here allowing my dinner guest and I to animatedly put the world to rights while simultaneously enjoying a host of familiar songs from Elvis to Chuck Berry. The layout of the place imitates the typical 50s style of patrons sat around a circular bar with the servers in the middle. The friendliness of the staff (in full retro attire) should not be underestimated and meant that I had an innate desire to ask them if they thought, gee whiz, Skip might take me to the prom this year? But I didn’t. Because, you know, they would have quite rightly looked at me as if I was mental. Burgers and fries were solid and reliable and we also took in the joy of a chocolate and rum “Alco-shake” – an alcoholic milkshake. I like this concept very much. It is perfect for the end of that strenuous work day where you desire both nostalgic childhood comforts and the chance to get hammered (or, as I call them, ‘Mondays’.) The Soho branch of Ed’s diner is conveniently just a few steps away from the home of Jersey Boys.

I attended the musical with an already positive bias – considering how much I love Frankie Valli, and knowing the rave reviews the musical has already obtained, the quartet would have had to have been replaced with the members of One Direction for me to give this a bad review. But it even exceeded my highest expectations. I cannot imagine anyone better than Ryan Molloy as Frankie Valli as he perfectly captured the soul and heart of the performer alongside the utter purity of his singing voice. My theatre-companion and I both conceded afterwards that we had developed a notable crush. The thing that struck me most was how rapidly the pacing raced from the early origins of the band to their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The dialogue, songs and set changes came quick and fast but never felt rushed which, to me, is exactly what theatre should do. I can labour over a dense book for hours on end but I always resent movies and plays which move at a laboriously slow pace. This summer’s Prometheus was my idea of cinematic hell. It was like watching paint dry. Except worse. Because at least when the paint’s dry, you have a nicely painted wall. With Prometheus, it ended and I had nothing but residual anger towards Ridley Scott.

It’s also interesting how people think they will not know much of the music in Jersey Boys, failing to attribute many well-known songs to The Four Seasons: Sherry, Walk Like A Man, Oh What A Night and Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You to name but a few. The audience in front of us became highly animated and it was impossible to mistake the positive atmosphere in the room. I firmly believe they should introduce ‘Musical Studies’ to the education curriculum to boost morale. It could replace Geography?

So, after experiencing flashbacks of the food and the music, my final stop was to experience the recreational pursuits of the era, namely the art of bowling at All Star Lanes in Holborn. While I very much enjoy it, I am not one of life's natural bowlers. This is probably something to do with my lack of effort; instead of choosing the bowling ball most suited to me, I will choose a) the one that is closest or b) the one with the prettiest colour (It is the same logic I once applied at a Kenyan Riding School, resulting in my acquisition of a devil-horse whose sole mission was to kill me.). My bowling companion admirably beat me that night, despite the fact it started off as a close race. I feel my performance plateaued about the time when I attempted to swing my arm back to garner power in my swing. Regrettably, I let go of the ball too early resulting in it flying backwards and into the wall. I was slightly concerned that the ball was going to be taken from me at that point and replaced with a foam ball and some paper bowling pins in the corner, but the staff member overseeing the bowling, despite wincing slightly, was very understanding.

The decor at the lanes is quirkily fifties and brings you back to a time when bowling was the quintessential 'date' activity. It would be an enticing option for a date even today, owing to the fact there is a handy dining area right next to the bowling lane. We dined on pulled pork sandwiches, sweet potato fries, chicken wings and chocolate brownies, perfectly complimented by some delectable cocktails. It really reminded me of the cuisine I feasted on in the Southern US; a highly welcome bout of nostalgia. However, I do recommend bowling before you eat such a heavy meal or you will do as I did and have to constantly fight the urge to lie down in the middle of the lane and take a nap.

This is a mere taste of what London has to offer with regards to fifties and sixties nostalgia, but they are three highly enjoyable experiences which I heartily recommend. Now, if you shall excuse me, I must tend to my time machine. I’m due at a high-stakes poker match with Al Capone and I have my eye on his Cadillac…