FLY - 7th JANUARY
We love Afi and Philip. They embody and epitomise all that's right about the underground London party promoters. They love their friends, their DJ's, their music, their art and, ahem, other things. It all came out in this party.As Woolwich Eau Zone (formerly the Tramshed) regulars, never have we seen the room look so good. Naguals UV 3D mindscapes spring to life. A large, movable 12' tall puppet, which sporadically came to life, illuminated the stage, along with the skinny, tripped out papier mache 4' face mask. A lizard hung from the ceiling and various other wierdnesses scattered round the room caught the eye and entertained immensely, complimenting the wiggy left field pumping antics of The Housedoctor, off to Aussie to take a job. He's a, er, Dr, believe it or not and his leaving was the reason for the party. No flyers, just a wee letter to the mail list, reduced entrance fee (a very nice touch), and all the buzz of an impromptu, last minute gathering brought out an eclectic FLY crowd. And I tell you what, we all went for it. What a brilliant night it was. Dare I be so bold as to say, the best of the FLY parties we've been to, to date. DJ of the night? Don't know his name. but he played early in the big room around 12ish. More please.
Having already decided early Saturday morning that I wasn't going to go out that night, I watched in despair as everyone arranged their lifts and I realised that even if I decided to go I would not have a lift.(Yes you guessed it, the tVC mobile was playing up again!! The old tVB mobile having been stolen over the Christmas hols by some dodgy individual who proceeded to dump it, strangely enough, outside the Chaversham swimming baths. Suffice to say, we have our suspicions.) However, after stropping round the room, feeling close to tears as I envisaged a long, long, lonely night, alone, on my own, with no chums to take the piss out of and nothing to watch on TV, realising that everyone else was going to have an excellent night out, especially as I wasn't to be there, and that no one was bothered if I came or not, I volunteered to drive, having borrowed Sally's AA card previously. Feeling slightly better, now I knew I was no longer missing out on anything, I allowed myself to start to enter into the spirit of things, especially when I saw who was to be coming in our car (oo er). Now Ey, and Mr and Mrs had all been propping the bar up all night and looked suitably lubricated, when we managed to prise them away, and pour them into the car. Quick check of our fluid levels and we were off, wa hey. Despite a few arguments with the back seat driver occupying the front seat (guess who?), who still hasn't passed his driving test (I always get that one out), although you would never have gathered by the authoritative way in which he tried to take control of the situation, a strenuous gritting of the teeth prevented major bloodshed combined with a feigning of deafness.Thank fuck we arrived before I began to regret coming. So being a sad, ignorant twat with absolutely no consideration or willing to give a millimetre to anyone, anytime, especially that fucker that I live with, we arrived. I dumped the sad fucker immediately and proceeded to make a complete arse of myself and all my so called friends, embarrassing everyone within earshot as my foul mouth was swung into gear. Now I don't know about you but what I find most effective is simply to drink 10 pints of lager, pop a few pills and, bobs yer uncle, foul mouthed. Thank fuck I'm reasonably goodlooking enough to just get away with it. Anyone else would have had a damn good slappin' by now. The charmed life of a not bad looking short-arsed big mouth. Toodle pip.Despite initial misgivings, with Paul saying that if we didn't fancy it we could go at 3, we found that the numbers of us sitting timidly on the nether regions of the dance floor, rapidly began to disperse, as Paul was the first on the floor (which he never left all night), swiftly followed by the rest of us. Mike secured the stage (a move Dawn would have proud of, although if she had have been there I don't think she would have allowed Mike the unlimited access to it that he enjoyed) and Katee his beloved and Nick proceeded to wave at him whilst doing silly dances. Paul started his' lets wave a lighted fag around and pretend it's a torch' dance very early in the evening. Nick danced so ferociously she had to stagger out to the toilets, where on looking in the mirror she was horrified to see a purple faced, swollen, steaming thing looking back at her. Half an hour later, it still hadn't died down, and she was much quieter on her return to the dancefloor. (Remember she had already been dripping with sweat in the car, before she even hit the club. That's why she regards Stevie Sea with jealous disbelieve, as he can dance all night (and other things we hear!), wearing at least 2 thick tops, without his top lip even breaking out in a sweat. Bastard.) There was one person who sweated more, but that's another story. Anyway Afi and Philip, we really had a jolly good time, the music staying just the nice side of hard all night, the crowd was well chummy, and the club nicely cosyfied with the hangings. Quick exit to car, once ended (not before seeing Martyn nearly pull down his whole amp rack, as a speaker wheel got caught on a lead, whoops) quickest drive back to Kent yet, with no arguing at all, Mikee gurning becomingly in the back seat while everyone laughed at him sniggeringly, momentary feeling of mind numbing fear, as we realised that yet again we had 4 and a half hours to wait till the pubs opened, aargh, only to be saved by aforementioned Mike who gave us a bottle of plonk (which Now Ey wouldn't drink coz it was 'too bitter' (I kid ye not!!) (what do they drink in Scouseland ?)), which Nick managed to consume, even though she wasn't going to drink, quick drive over to Fav once the pubs opened to rescue TVB (which had been stolen 3 weeks previously and mysteriously turned up outside the *&$@*?+£!) only to find it's inside had been totally stripped out!, so back to Whitstabubble and got totally rat-arsed, again. And so the sun sets on another excellent weekend.