New Years Eve 1994
We rendezvous at the Ship in Faversham at 11.30pm to find the party in full swing. After knocking at the door we were admitted by Walter himself, head man of the establishment who had surrounded himself with a tribe of drunken revellers.
Everywhere the youth and some not so youthful danced to the strains of a 70's disco complete with Barry White and Abba. All ably played by a real life 70's DJ (he didn't look old enough) on a pair of Technics decks. I waited in vain for a deep mix of the Stylistics or even the Jackson 5.
Well, I don't really want to go on about Dance Music's "Dark Ages", suffice to say that brief return to those heady days was fairly painful to us House Fanatics, one of whom suggested "this could cause some nasty nausea and vomiting and lead to awful hangovers".
We saw the New Year in with raised glass and a cheer (the music had stopped for Big Ben). Back came the disco, everybody became very kissy, throwing their arms around complete strangers and snogging them. Well at least I did. By 12.30 we were off for further adventures in the night.
We followed a convoy of cars off to "Nunca Nunca". Into London we drove, around London we drove, around London we drove some more, eventually arriving outside the venue, a film studio in Cricklewood at 3am after circumnavigating North London by all the back streets. Thank goodness we were following an ex-London cabby.
Walter hassled and a doorman looked hastily down an immense guest list and by the time he ascertained that Walter wasn't on it we'd paid our 20 quids and were in.
Well as per usual by 3am we were all pretty shit-faced so things started off fairly confusing. We found ourselves in a short corridor with a huge Christmas tree at one end and a curtained entrance on each side to the two rooms; one hard the other not so hard, OK. As there seemed to be curtains along at least three of the walls in at least one of the rooms, some confusion in finding the way out was caused to those of us who had scrambled their brains that night. Both rooms pumped out the most beautiful, rhythmic house; at various times lasers played over our heads, lights strobed, went out, were rekindled and we'd find ourselves in an impenetrable strawberry fog. Hard on the asthmatics, but orgasmic for everyone else.
The music slightly faster in one room, slightly slower in the other, but excellent in both. I can't tell you who played (I couldn't read the flyer or it didn't say) excepting that the night was topped off by the inevitable Mark Shimmon. So what with a plenitude of lights, smoke, lasers, expertly manned (and womaned) decks, the excellent sounding rigs (thanks to our favourite sound men) and about 800 happy, beautiful, dancing, party people stomping the night away in absolute bliss and harmony, the New Year was finally seen in, with the style and grace we all deserved.