Do you go straight to bed after a great night out? Well don't. Follow the chill out crew down to the beach and have a pint with them in the sunshine. Look at a cloud.
Ooh I do like a good old morning session after a party. There’s nothing like a good bout of bubbling low anti-melodrama and some infantilising sentimentality to go with some decent chilled deep house. Timeless sentimental, yet surprisingly muscular, gems much maligned by those too embarrassed to admit it makes them cry. Don’t you agree? Admittedly neither understatement nor brevity has ever been the Modus operandi of the post party louche but a collectively cultivated distaste of the violent absurdities of human conflict and an appreciation of ecstatic social engagement does engender a somewhat excessive admiration of the joy of social union, sunshine on a beach, fizzy alcoholic drinking and some simperingly close exchanges of intimacies or indeed the simple appreciation of each other’s oneness that elicits poignantly elliptical moments that some observers would negatively label with a lack of understanding, even with distain and simply compare, the behaviour, rightly, to a pride of lions lazily basking on the Serengeti; after having killed and eaten a zebra. Do not think that this nostalgically feted gathering is somewhat soft around the edges.
It is here, in best David Attenborough voice, on that cultivated stage where the subtle appreciation of the darker decisions regarding survival in a thoughtless world exists that the troubling themes of tragedy, pathos and redemption spring through the rays of healing heat and through the fug of ecstasis clarity.
This conjures a sweeping, tear-jerking epic in which broad strokes and grand gestures speak volumes, substituting the visual verbosity and musical overstatement from the previous hours into a more reflective though provoking, even philosophical, dissection of life, love and universe; just like earlier in fact but a bit more slowly now; the human voice taking precedence over the beat of the kick drum; the blanket and tea over the whistle and the dance floor; the freedom to roll and lay your head on someone’s warm arm and look at the clouds with impunity from the experience of queuing 10 deep at the bar.
The pre party, the party then, perhaps, the after party, could be cast as rungs, with the after, after party bit, where we all head down to the beach, could be seen as the pinnacle of party culture.
This part of the day sounds the limits of imaginable love.
The adamantine surety and utter aptness of every chiseled exchange. The deeply nuanced vocabulary, surprising and delightful to the ear; of beauty and goodness. Camus wrote that the world is ugly and cruel, but it is only by adding to that ugliness and cruelty that we sin most gravely. The beach affirms belief in the tender pricelessness of the here and now. It does not add to the cruelty and ugliness of our times; it warns us now how much we have to lose. Beauty and goodness are here aplenty and we should think about them. While we can.