I don't often have hardcore weekends, not that I'm slipping into an insipid world of wondering around Ikea in a daze and thinking about blinds but that normally I try to have at least one day of rest for every day of charging around doing something strange. So if Saturday is spent swinging from trees or racing motorbikes than Sunday will be spent reading the papers and listening to radio 4.
I don't know why I keep to such a strict system, I work strange hours in the week so occasionally have hours, or days off so weekends mean less. It's a couple of days when everyone is about to play but it's harder to do actual work.
This Friday started off in a fairly tame way. I spent the afternoon doing arts and crafts for work. After making some models and an excellent collage while drinking sherry I ambled over to Sloane Square to meet a chum for a post-work drink. This turned into quite a few after work drinks as we went to a hidden pub off a side-street I had been introduced to by a girl when I first moved up to London. After the pints we went to a Chinese Restaurant in South Kensington and then to a house party.
My chum sort of knew two girls who were, well International Party girls. I've encountered this breed before, they dance from city to city going out and meeting people as a career. They might have 'promoter' as an official job title but really their job is to have fun and search for future husbands. These two girls were from Northern Ireland, and having realised that they had missed their favourite flight to LA had decided to go out in London. They rented a vast flat in Kensington to use as a base of operations and even hired two chunky chaps to stride around topless near them. These two chaps were like Derek Zoolander, but with an angry hint of too many drugs and steroids just bubbling away under the surface.
So we met up with these sort of friends, even acquaintance would be pushing it, at their flat for pre-club drinks. We tried to play some moderately complicated drinking game because one of the hostesses insisted on it but a couple of missing cards made it almost impossible and so it was abandoned in exchange for polite conversation while sipping rum. One of the hostesses had decided I looked familiar and so spent about an hour trying to work out where she had seen me before. I couldn't place her and I normally have a pretty good memory for faces.
This scintillating conversation ended when they had to dance off to get to the club early, we were left in the flat with another girl who had appeared so we could escort her to the club when she was ready. I was slightly taken aback by being left, as strangers in a flat after only having met this girls about an hour ago. We didn't do anything, but we could have.
Anyway we ambled into the club, got whisked in to the VIP area and fed bottles of Vodka. This was all well and good until about midnight where the place filled up massively and got a bit sinister. Chaps were doing drug deals right in the middle of the club, or if they weren't dealing they were buying very expensive tic-tacs.
We decided this wasn't really our scene and the vodka had run out so we went to a flat for a light party (as in short) before we would rejoin the main group to go to the larger house party in Kensington. We ended up drinking grog at 3am with some girls who didn't drink and that we hadn't met before. It was all a bit strange. My memory gets a bit hazy at this point but at about 10ish I woke up on a sofa while a chap in a top hat arranged a cab to take him to the train station.
I managed to get up and then made my way home feeling a little bit woolly. There wasn't much time for rest, I had a quick wash, a power nap and I was off to the second part of the weekend...
To be continued
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