WHENEVER I drive past the old Town & Country Club on Manningham Lane, I feel a pang of sadness.

With its peeling paint and faded old posters, its once fancy pillars now weed-choked and weather-beaten, it's a sorry sight.

But to many people across the district, this rundown building was once the place to be. It was where they danced the night away at the end of the working week, met future spouses, hung out with friends, watched bands, knocked back a drink and sought a bit of Saturday night solace.

For more than a decade it has stood empty, but now it may be brought back to life. Plans to refurbish and re-open the property have been submitted to Bradford Council, and developers aim to change its use from nightclub to "assembly and leisure use". The planning application, which highlights the "magnificent internal features", states: "This building was once a large part of Bradford’s night scene and has been derelict for more than 10 years. It is our client’s aim, through a significant investment, to bring this building back to its original form."

As someone who spent a couple of teenage years on that dance floor, and witnessed and reported on the venue's mixed fortunes and ultimate demise following the 2001 Manningham riots, I'm pleased that a move is finally underway to restore the property.

It has never has been particularly appealing to look at, but it has a place in the hearts and memories of many folk who grew up here, and it has national cultural significance too. As the Mecca Locarno, it is forever mortalised in John Schlesinger's film Billy Liar; the dance hall where Billy's tangled love life comes to light.

In my day (the mid-1980s) it was Dollars and Dimes. I was 16 when I first set foot on its sticky carpet. Most kids from school went there because even if you hadn't turned 18, no-one seemed to ask. It wasn't the classiest joint in town but it had a vast dance floor, overlooked by a balcony that seemed glamorous. Even if you only had enough cash for half a lager and black, you could spend the night dancing to sounds of the Eighties.

I saw my first band there - Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, about 1984. Two decades later, I would interview lead singer Andy McCluskey for the T&A. Dollars and Dimes later became The Maestro. That was my younger sister's era; I remember her saying it was glitzy, with goldfish swimming in big glass bowls.

Since it opened in the 1960s as the Mecca Locarno, the Manningham dance hall has had various incarnations, drawing in generations of Bradfordians. It opened at a time when the city was at the height of its post-war transformation. In 1962, when Billy Liar was filmed on Bradford's streets, the city's Swan Arcade was being pulled down. That year, John Betjeman described the growing structures of glass and concrete as ‘international nothingness’.

Built amidst the once-grand Victorian splendour of Manningham, the Locarno was no architectural gem. And it was never exactly sophisticated, (despite the goldfish), but it was somewhere to go on a Friday or Saturday night.

It's been a shame to see it so rundown. I wish it well for its next lease of life.

* What are you memories of the former nightclub? Did you meet your husband or wife there? Did you work there? See any bands there? Do you have any funny or quirky stories about the place?

* Share your memories at emma.clayton@telegraphandargus.co.uk, on Twitter at EmmaC_TandA or write to me at Telegraph & Argus, Hall Ings, Bradford BD1 1JR.

* WELL done to Professor Robert Winston for shaming a woman who made an hour-long 'phone call on a train, while her child sat beside her.

The doctor and TV presenter was on a London to Manchester train when he became frustrated at the woman's lengthy 'phonecall, so he complained about it on Twitter, posting photos of her too. Many of his 40,000 followers are said to have supported his action. Others called it an invasion of privacy. But as Prof Winston pointed out, that works both ways. And anyone who yaps loudly and at length into a mobile on a train invades the privacy of those around them.

Train travel offers precious solace, to sit back and capture thoughts. Shame some folk insist on shattering this peace with their wretched 'phone chat.

* AS anyone who has been dumped knows, there's nothing more devastating than the end of a relationship.

Could a new app called Mend heal the heartache? Enter details of your break-up, and an 'emotional personal trainer' helps you move on - with a time stamp of days since you last contacted your ex, a chart of your mood swings, and an online community of dumpees offering advice. Might work for lovelorn millennials, but it sounds like a faff to me. A bottle of wine, a corny movie and a good old self-indulgent wallow generally does the trick.