Walking down Tombland in Norwich the other day got me thinking. Are the powers-that-be ever going to do anything with the building that those of us of a certain age knew as the magical, heart-fluttering, music-thumping Samson and Hercules ballroom?

Eastern Daily Press: The main dance floor in the Samson and Hercules which had just had a major facelift in 1970 including new scenery of palm trees and clusters of fairy light.The main dance floor in the Samson and Hercules which had just had a major facelift in 1970 including new scenery of palm trees and clusters of fairy light. (Image: Archant)

If you're a bit younger, you might have known it as Ritzy's or Ikon or Fifth Avenue or any other name that struck your fancy at a time when the city's clubland scene was drifting inexorably to the weekly battlefield that is now Prince of Wales Road and Riverside.

Eastern Daily Press: The exterior of the Tombland building.The exterior of the Tombland building. (Image: ©Archant Photographic 2008)

But in its heyday, the Samson was very definitely the place to be.

Eastern Daily Press: The newly-married Paul and Christine Durrant, a love that began on the dancefloor of the Samson and Hercules nightclub to the sounds of Middle of the Road's Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep.The newly-married Paul and Christine Durrant, a love that began on the dancefloor of the Samson and Hercules nightclub to the sounds of Middle of the Road's Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep. (Image: Archant)

Queue up, get in, buy a pint, scan the dance floor, find a girl bopping round her handbag and jump in with the pimply and hesitant: 'Er, d'yanna dance?'

Sometimes, you even got lucky.

The Samson was the grown-up nightclub, where you went once you'd graduated from the garish Industrial Club and before you got cerebral by going to the Gala and listen, with chin-stroking intensity, to Fleetwood Mac, Chicken Shed and The Nice.

It had an over-21s night on a Thursday and that was what all us late-teen lads aspired to. So here's to you Mrs Robinson.

The Samson specialised in live music back then. A 15-piece band, with a Phil Spector-style wall-of-sound brass section at the back, that prided itself on being able to give a passable rendition of whatever was Number One in the Hit Parade that week.

The thing is, it's a place of so many memories for so many people, it deserves better than it's getting at the moment.

Empty. Boarded up.

Padlocks the size of house bricks. 'To let' signs.

So rouse yourselves, city councillors, start asking some challenging questions about why the current Samson owners are leaving this historic and remarkable building to fester when it should be celebrated.

Like thousands of others, I met my missus at the Samson. As soon as I saw her, grooving to Chirpy, Chirpy, Cheep, Cheep, in her floral pink mini dress, I was smitten.

The Samson is plain and simple important to the culture of 20th-century Norwich.

Admittedly, the old gal is nowadays a bit past her best.

But she deserves better than to be virtually abandoned, waiting for recognition and I assume an upturn in the economic climate.

Come to think of it, so does the Samson.