Station Underground is a 90’s rave. The descent into the bar and cavernous nooks lined with large chill-out sofas is symbolic, but that revelation will come and slap us (repeatedly in the face) a little later. For now, there are bevvies and techno and air that smells of sweat and altered states.

We are about to enter Irvine Welsh’s world of the junky. His first novel, Trainspotting (1993), told of the bleak and brutal worlds in his Scottish homeland (and beyond), centred around a bunch of loosely connected heroin addicts. A cult film directed by Danny Boyle resulted in 1996, and this month, a sequel film is due for Australian release.

A queue forms in front of blackout curtains, behind which, memories of the Chemical Brothers promise good dance beats if not good times. Tickets are exchanged for orange rubber wrist bands embossed with “TRAINSPOTTING Choose life”, as punters wave their glow sticks to the beats, with reminiscences that light a few eyes and challenge more than one memory.

Admission to the main event is orderly; a sentiment we are about to leave behind. We enter a dark, loud and busy club, combining with those already on the dance floor. Some people...