New Year

Made it to The Rave (secretsundaze, just outside Shoreditch, one of several recommended by effortlessly hip DJ colleague) with Megan. It was smaller and trendier than last years’ (fewer Camden girls with glo-sticks and fairy wings, more Hoxton girls dressed like Alexa Chung) but the warehouse was much nicer and music better (Hacienda-style DJs, not bleeding techno covers of Bob Marley songs). We were among the first to arrive, shivering down the archetypal back alley while various men in black coats faffed unpromisingly, but it filled up quickly and the atmosphere was vibrant. Points to the charming bald Italian called Paolo who kept scabbing my feather boa, the girls wearing custom-made Save The Rave t-shirts, and the shoreditch twat who gave me an unexpectedly polite and pleasant midnight kiss. Null points to the gurning eejet who later attempted to stick his tongue down my throat and grab me, before getting the hint quickly. Intimate venues are hard for me as I get instinctively suspicious of people who pay too much attention to me before I’ve said anything, but the drawing power of the feather boa amused me, and, gurning eejet aside, people who spoke to us were very friendly. I was watching a sub-Brass Eye World in Action documentary from 1989 about the acid house craze on YouTube the night before *, and as we danced among all the others I felt a glowy feeling that this spirit of this fad is living on 20 years later and I (minus drugs, naturellement) am a small part of it.

We left halfway through this time, as I was getting panicky and headachey and didn’t think I could last the full stretch to 6am (the last train out of London on New Years Eve is at 3:00, after that there are no more until 7:35). We’d had a fun time and been there four hours, so it was a case of quitting while we were ahead. We got home about 3:30 and drank pink champagne (not the best idea) with my mum until 4:30, then slept until 1 or 2 in the afternoon. Had we stayed til the end we would have slept through the day and not seen any daylight (or watched Season 4 of The L Word * to the very end and gone out for a meal) so in a sense I’m glad at my lack of stamina. How I coped with a full all-nighter of ear-bleeding hard house last year is beyond me. Perhaps a recent job offer after six months post-postgrad unemployment would put anyone in the mood to dance all night. By contrast, a year of arduous commutes to brain-numbing job I’m intermittently rubbish at may have done the opposite.

I still have another week off work, and intend to try and make the most of it in some way. I am going to this weekend’s Sunday matinee of August Osage County at the National and have my eye on a Tuesday matinee of another show, if I can justify it to myself (I’ve seen it but it was three years ago). That said, I loathe travelling into London now as it is a reminder of work rather than a social treat (I predicted some time ago that this would happen and I was right). Option B: Sit at home, sort my Flickr gallery and will time to stand still….

* it's in 13 parts, in grainy 80s VHS quality, but it is well worth watching for nostalgia/history/laughs. The girl at the start seems nice, even if she does have a perm you wouldn't go trick or treating in. The old ladies in part 6 (I think...) are beyond Chris Morris's wildest imagination. Crumbs on a bike, that D Mob "aciiieed" song is a truly bloody awful record, though. What possessed anybody to buy it?

* The sixth season is about to premiere in America, and season 5 is still showing on cable here. Unfortunately (?) I am deprived of UK Living and the Season 5 DVD probably won't be out for donkeys.