A Tale of Two Limos

Red Cube, Leicester Square

Mass, Brixton

George the Fourth, Brixton Hill

I could smell that something was wrong maybe as much as three or four minutes before there was a very loud bang. Everyone looks at each other, the same "What was that?" questioning expression on each face. Now the smell is becoming overpowering, a harsh stench like burning rubber. A few seconds later and we are pulling over to the side of the road. The driver is out of the vehicle in front, looking at the rear left tire. We, in the second vehicle, deduce there has been a blow out, and that the driver can change the tire and in about ten minutes we'll be on our way again. But as the lead car's passengers spill out onto the pavement and the two drivers are looking worried as they frantically dial numbers into mobile phones, it seems there may be a larger problem. Meanwhile, in the mechanically sound second car, it is getting frighteningly hot and not a little claustrophobic and we have to pile out too. And so it is that twenty four of London's finest party people are milling around at the side of East London's Bow Fly-over, all dressed up to the nines, alongside two limousines, one with a completely shattered suspension.

Of course it begs the question what were they getting up to in the first car? How can 12 people break a limo suspension not five minutes into the journey? Well I can't comment on that, because I was in the back one. With me were birthday boy Dickon (it's also Lorna and Paula's birthdays) , Gemma, Dave, Jon, Girds, Pezzer, Greg, Jane, her boyfriend and Carly. It's horribly cramped, but a cozy affair as the wine, beer and champagne are passed around and poured over each others trousers, every time the car rounds a bend. After the breakdown, a half hour debate results in those of us in the second car going on to the first bar of the evening, while the pit-lane stranded other lot wait for a new limo to be dispatched. The limo ride in is a veritable tour of the sights of London, from the Bank and St Paul's to the Embankment, Nelson's column and my new office. Soon enough we pull up near Leicester Square and pile into Red Cube, one of the latest swanky bars in the area.

Red Cube is all nicely done out with a whole bunch of red squares on the walls. That's fine, all good so far. I buy three bottles of Corona which comes to about £11.50 - and to be honest, that's not as bad as it could have been. Ok, it's obviously expensive, but later in the evening I make up for it managing to steal two full cans of Red Bull that are just sitting on the bar being ignored by all around. With stealthy sideways glances I deftly swipe first one, and then the other off the bar and into my trouser pockets, pick up my beers and bugger off. A perfect opportunist crime and one which will have dire consequences - I'm now two cans of red bull more hyper than I was five minutes ago.

We dance around in Red Cube for a while to such Leicester Square classics as "Sex Bomb", "Horny" and "Boom Boom Shake the Room" (No I'm joking about that last one). One of the guys says to me "Oh God, this is what we've got to look forward to when we hit thirty." It's a good point, the crowd is older. But I'm quite enjoying it actually, so concerns about impending middle age are not a problem just yet. 

At 11pm it is time to get back in the limos and head for Mass. Some time is lost trying to find a) The Limos, b) half the group and c) Me, as I have gone to look for the half of the group who went missing. But soon enough we're on our way and arrive at Mass in Brixton at midnight. There's yet another period of confusion as people disappear behind bushes to change out of smart limo/West End clothes into clubbing/Brixton clothes. I have no such clothing flexibility. By the way I am wearing those nice black velvet trousers and a brand spanking new lilac Firetrap shirt, an outfit of which I'm only slightly proud of. I'm telling you this now because it's an important plot element for later on. You know, like in Silence of the Lambs where you see Dr Lecter looking at a fountain pen left on the bed and then ten minutes later he's using it to unpick his handcuffs and then chew someone's face off.  But I digress....

We have guest list action so pass the big queue and head up those huge spiral stairs. I haven't been to Mass since the post Departures twenty minute visit, so have  no pre-conceptions. It is, therefore, pleasantly surprising. Although early and not exactly bulging with people at this point, it looks promising. The lights are cool - in one room a grid pattern is being cast over half the room, so that punter's bodies appear almost Matrix-like in the dark. one of the rooms is pretty empty, and in the other it is booming out light House music. Having lived off a staple diet of hard house and trance for the best part of a long time, I thought it was pretty good. Quite light, some wailing divas, a bit funky. Fine. 

Or not. Majority opinion is not looking good. In the chill out room, everyone has gathered to debate the circumstance. Keith whispers to me that there may be a consensus forming to decamp to George the Fourth. Uh-oh. I've never been to G4 and have publicly sworn on several occasions that I'd never, ever go there under any circumstances whatsoever, no thank you, forget it, I'm not going in there. 

Cut to 45 minutes later, after a cash point and snacks diversion, and Keith, Greg, Girds and myself are on the dancefloor at G4, arms pumping to some absolute madness. By now those two red bulls have full control.

So, George the Fourth - what is it and what does it want? Well, it's a pub. A pub that has a 6am license, a dancefloor, a wickedly loud sound system and a penchant for playing the loudest, hardest, dirtiest, most unrelenting, pounding noise I have ever come across. Only certain dark corners of the Drome come anywhere near this. The breakdowns never come, the only pauses are fraction second dropped beats, and the volume is industrial strength. Our boys are loving it.

Dancing has to be done in short stints due to the sheer heat. I'm dancing with Paula for what seems like a very long time before we stumble outside to join the others. Earlier I was musing on the fact that those of us who didn't change outside Mass are now looking very out of place as the dress code in G4 is strictly what I now term "Dirty Brixton Wear". As some of us were dancing earlier, there was a moment of paranoia, especially when stood next to Carly, who being six foot and in a little black cocktail dress, looks even more out of place than I do. Thankfully, after Paula has put me through the paces on the dancefloor, my afore-mentioned Firetrap shirt is now literally soaked through with sweat. I feel this brings me to the same level as the other G4 patrons, so I can stop worrying about that now. I probably smell quite bad too, which also seems to be required here. 

We are sitting on the floor outside the pub talking bollocks and getting our trousers dirty. Periodically the sweat will dry, making shirts go crispy and requiring a fresh dousing to get some flexibility back. I'm quite enjoying the dancing but to be perfectly honest, the music is so hard and fast there is very little room for upliftance - just lots of exercise. Resultantly, I still feel reasonably sober, despite going of on one about Jesus at one point.

Eventually it's time to go. Lorna, Paula, Ross, Girds, Greg, Pezza and Carly are heading back to Dickon's for what will unquestionably be a long long after-party. Local boys Keith and I are wimping out, and staying here in our back-yard. Fortunately I can persuade Keith that we should go home, and so it is that the night for us, is over. At a nice and respectable 4.30am. I feel I've done well.

What a night. Certainly eventful and we didn't half cover a lot of ground on that one. Red Cube was good, I'd go back in there. The limos were obviously flawed in quite spectacular mechanical fashion, but good fun anyway. I personally could have stayed in Mass for a little longer than we did, but no worries. And as for George - after all this time protesting about it's very existence, what's the verdict? Well it is the flea ridden pit I thought it was going to be. So yes, I had a great time!

Happy Birthday to Lorna, Paula and Dickon.

(photos to follow? Did anyone have a camera?)