I am so very very sleepy. There are just too many gigs.
After Thursday night at The Pleasure Unit I spent most of Friday panic writing some coursework on Pythagoras and also deciding who to place my bets on for the Grand National. I usually go for the horse with a fun name but its not a guaranteed success story. Last year Blowing Wind didn’t even finish. So this year I thought I’d employ some logic to proceedings and find out a little info on the horses and which ones were actually likely to win.
Queue exploring the BBC sports site and working out which lucky horse got my hopes. I went for the girls option with Forest Gunner and Strong Resolve. They came 5th and 17th respectively. Oh well. The favourite won. That never happens.
Friday night was spent at a ‘secret warehouse party’ over in Elephant & Castle. We queued in the cold outside for too long, why can’t venues get their asses in gear over this? We don’t want to queue.
I always expect warehouse parties to look like actual warehouses not like wine bars but I am always proved wrong. This one had art on the walls, a great soundsystem, a proper dj/sound mixing bit, painted walls, good lighting and a proper stage. If it weren’t for the fact that one of the bars was just a table you could have been forgiven for thinking it was never a warehouse.
I think Ivich Lives were on first. I was too confused by the act of having to swap money for tokens and then tokens for drinks to concentrate on them. The Rocks were next. As good as ever. Never disappoint. James climbed about, Sarah looked brilliantly sultry and the Confetti Girls showered them in well…confetti.
The venue was packed and by the time Vincent Vincent & the Villains surfaced I could not see a thing. This was very upsetting; I’d been looking forward to seeing them for so long. By this point I’d swapped considerable amounts of tokens for Smirnoff Ices and lost track of what bands were playing. We just kept drinking. And getting balloons of laughing gas. And then kept drinking some more. And some more…
I woke up with lips that told me I thought chips and chilli sauce on a cold night were a good idea and a head that said they put nothing natural into Smirnoff Ices. My alarm going off at 8am for work was almost followed with a call pretending to be ill but my morals kicked in and somehow I lasted the day.
Tonight I’m supposed to be going to see the Art Goblins at Guided Missile but I can barely keep my eyes open. I can feel myself nodding off as I type. I hate working Saturdays.