New legislation could force working men's clubs to give women equal rights but do they want them? Christen Pears finds out why women would want to spend their evenings at the club

A WAVE of raucous laughter sweeps across the room from a large group of young women in the corner.

Their backless dresses and glitter hipsters are more suited to a rather different clubland than the relaxed and friendly atmosphere that is Stanley Central Club.

With some 20,000 members - 8,000 of whom are women - it is one of the largest working men's clubs in the North-East and prides itself on forward-thinking.

It has always admitted women, although they don't have voting rights and they're not allowed in the bar. But then, most don't seem to mind.

Lynn Pye, a regular at the club, says: "Most of the time it doesn't bother me but last night I came to pick my husband up and I had to ask one of the men to go into the bar and tell him I was here.

"I think I would like to be able to go in on principle, but, other than that, I'm not interested. Most of the other women aren't either and I certainly don't think they're that bothered about having voting rights and helping to run the club."

Club chairman Mac Jefferson agrees. "I think they would try it out, just because they could, but it wouldn't last," he says.

"I know the men wouldn't like it, though. They're quite stuck in their ways. Sometimes, a woman wanders into the bar by accident and she knows she's not meant to be there the minute she walks through the door."

The nearest I come to the bar is the games room next door. There aren't any women in here tonight and the men circling the snooker tables look up briefly when I walk in. Clutching my notebook, I'm mistaken for a decorator and one of the men asks if I can make sure the re-fit includes plenty of nude pictures on the walls. But he's only having a laugh and it's the only time I hear any sexist comments.

I press my nose to the glass that separates us from the bar. From what I can make out through the smoke, it doesn't look particularly remarkable - groups of men sitting round tables, deep in conversation and enjoying a pint.

"I don't think the women really want to come in here. It is a very male environment and there are other, much nicer rooms," says, David Errington, the club's treasurer, as he shows me along the corridor to the concert room - a huge 350-seater venue, complete with stage and an impressive array of disco lights.

There's an upstairs lounge too, with low-slung red velvet chairs, a couple of committee members handing out bingo cards on the door and Atomic Kitten's Whole Again blaring out of the speakers.

It's not my scene but I have to admit I'm pleasantly surprised. "Any time you want to come back, just let us know," says David.

Maybe I will. Once I'm allowed in the bar.