There are nights you forget as soon as your head hits the pillow, and then there are nights that burn themselves into your memory, searing through the fog of time with the intensity of a neon light. For anyone who spent their formative years in Newcastle between the early 1980s and the mid-2000s, the Tuxedo Princess was synonymous with those unforgettable nights. A nightclub on a boat. Not just any boat – a passenger ferry ship with a past, anchored beneath the Tyne Bridge like some gaudy beacon of hedonism and bad decisions.
But let’s get our facts straight for those who may be unfamiliar with this legend of Newcastle’s world-famous nightlife – arguably the most missed of all the iconic nightclubs that no longer operate in the city. The Tuxedo Princess was the first of two floating nightclubs that graced the Tyne. She was the trailblazer, the original party boat, setting a precedent that her successor, the Tuxedo Royale, would follow. When the Princess was temporarily relocated to Glasgow, the Royale took up her mooring under the bridge. But the Princess, like all true icons, made her grand return. And when she did, the Royale was unceremoniously dispatched to Middlesbrough.
Two ships, two legacies – both affectionally referred to as ‘The Boat’.
Let’s set the scene, shall we? Imagine a chilly Saturday night, the kind where the wind cuts through your coat and the prospect of staying in seems almost sensible – until you remember what awaits on the Tyne. A giant ferry, garishly lit, decked out in all its floating glory. The Tux beckoned, like a siren’s call to the nightlife enthusiasts of the North East. But instead of crashing against rocks, you’d crash through the entrance, clutching a fiver that would soon evaporate into a pint, or if you were feeling fancy, a vodka Red Bull – with plenty of change given back in return.
Inside, the place was a labyrinth of sticky floors, strobe lights, and music so loud it reverberated through your chest. Each level of the boat offered something different: from the top deck where the DJ spun chart-toppers, to the darker, more intimate spaces below where you could lose yourself – or someone else – if you weren’t careful. And then there was the revolving dance floor. It’s funny how something so simple, so gimmicky, could become legendary. One minute you’d be busting moves in sync with your mates, the next you’d be catapulted into a group of strangers, sparking a whirlwind of awkward introductions or spontaneous snogging.
Let’s not pretend that this unique venue was all glamour. She was anything but. The carpets were dubious at best, the toilets – well, let’s just say you had to really need to go to venture in there. But none of that mattered. The Tux was about more than its peeling paint and questionable hygiene. It was about the people. The blokes in their Ben Sherman shirts, the lasses in skirts short enough to make you wonder how they’d managed to pull off such a feat without defying the laws of physics.
And let’s talk about the bouncers. They were a breed unto themselves, standing stoic at the door like the gatekeepers of a very exclusive, yet somehow accessible, version of paradise. You knew you’d arrived if you could navigate their gruff exterior with a cheeky smile and a confident nod. Inside, they were less bouncers, more reluctant chaperones, watching as the night unfolded into a glorious mess of laughter, tears, and everything in between.
Everyone who went to the Tux has a story – or ten. There were the epic nights where the drinks flowed as freely as the Tyne beneath you, and then there were the nights where you wondered if you’d ever be able to show your face in public again. But that was the charm of the Tux. It was the great equaliser. Whether you were a uni student, a local, or someone just visiting the city, the Tuxedo Princess welcomed you with open arms – and possibly a complimentary shot if you were lucky.
And what about the music? Oh, the music! A glorious cacophony of 80s cheese, 90s anthems, and the odd contemporary hit that was sure to be forgotten by the next week. But when you were on that dance floor, the cares of the world melted away. It didn’t matter that you had work in the morning or that your bank account was dangerously close to the red. For those few hours, life was about nothing more than the beat, the bass, and the sheer joy of being young and alive.
The end of an era
But all good things must come to an end, and the Tuxedo Princess was no exception. As Newcastle evolved, so did its nightlife. The Princess, once the belle of the ball, began to show her age. There were attempts to revive her, to recapture the magic of those halcyon days, but it was clear that her time had passed. In 2008, she was finally towed away, leaving a void in the heart of Newcastle’s nightlife that no amount of sleek, modern bars could ever truly fill.
But even as she disappeared into the horizon, the legend of the boat lived on. In the memories of those who danced on her decks, who laughed until they cried, who found love – or at least lust – in her dimly lit corners. The stories, often embellished with each retelling, have become part of the fabric of Newcastle’s history.
So, what is the legacy of the Tuxedo Princess? It’s not just about the nights out or the revolving dance floor. It’s about a time and a place where anything seemed possible, where the night was always young, and the morning was a distant concern. To many, The Tuxedo Princess was more than just a nightclub; she was a rite of passage, a cornerstone of Geordie culture, and a symbol of a city that knows how to have a good time.
As we look back, with a mix of fondness and perhaps a touch of embarrassment, we realise that the Tuxedo Princess represented a time when Newcastle’s nightlife truly was unique. And though the boat may be gone, the memories remain – etched into our minds like the fading glow of a disco ball spinning its last revolution.
Raise a glass to the Tuxedo Princess. She may have sailed away, but she’ll never be forgotten.
Featured image credit: Bob Castle, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
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