Last Saturday night I was rubbing shoulders with the ultimate cool kids of London. One of my friends was hosting a big party at a warehouse conversion in Hackney and we were duly invited. I don’t often venture to East London as it’s pretty far away and I’m lazy like that, but I figured this party was too cool to miss.
We decided to wander around the area, and when I say wander, I mean we got lost on our mission to find a corner shop. We walked across bridges, under bridges and up and down the “hills” until we reached a wasteland and decided to turn back. Someone aptly mentioned that this mission felt “a lot like Lord of The Rings”. And it really did. It was a rather windy night so my eyes were watering and the winged eyeliner I had work so hard on earlier, was now running down my cheeks. Frodo’s struggles were nothing compared to mine.
We finally got out shizzle sorted and were ready to join the party! I thought I had dressed up pretty hip and happening but as soon as I walked in, it was clear – SCRUNCHIES are back!! Seriously! I’ve tried hard enough to forget about my childhood trauma of wearing shorts that my mum made me, together with a matching scrunchie to go with my side ponytail. Wait, there’s more – I have two brothers and two sisters and we ALL had those matching shorts! And we all would wear them together. In public.
So yeah, scrunchies, crop tops and headbands – it was a house full of ‘Saved by the Bell’ extras. We got there around 8pm but the party had started at 3pm, so you can imagine most people were pretty wasted by then.
It was time to catch up with them!
There was dancing, loads of toilet paper flying around, men in drag, older ladies shaking their booties, youngsters off their faces, “oldies” off their faces, toilet queues, funny conversations, boring conversations, copious amounts of spilled drinks and ruined shoes.
Around 1pm, I showed those pesky 20-year-olds who’s boss, by puking outside in the dark corner. Not sure if vomiting at parties is out of fashion nowadays, because a bunch of youngsters all looked at me like I had just committed a major act of lameness. I was later joined by my friend who said: “Let me show you how professionals do it!” And so she did.
And there we were – sitting outside in the ‘vom’ corner, mascara running down the face, trying to get our heads straight.
I started feeling much better about myself when a guy suddenly appeared – he went to one of the many bicycles parked outside the building and quickly dismantled its front wheel. He then started putting it back together but there was a problem! He’d forgotten how to! He was just looking at the wheel and then the bike. He did that for a while. Don’t know what drugs he was on but he was talking to himself, clearly confused about the mind-boggling situation he was in. Not sure if he managed to put it together in the end and I sincerely hope it was his own bike.
They started kicking us out around 2am but instead of continuing on to the after-party, which I’m usually a fan of, it was time for this piggy to get in the taxi and go to bed.