What a HOOT
- raverinretreat
- Nov 1, 2014
- 5 min read
Welcome to the Birthday Bash Blog Launch.
There seemed no better time than to launch my new blog on my birthday. Come in, grab yourselves a drink, be prepared for some jelly wrestling later in the evening!
Even though today is the big day, because my family are now held hostage by the school holidays, we went and celebrated in London last weekend. Bear in mind that me and the hubby haven’t had a night out — let alone a weekend! — with no kids since, well, never. Maybe once. For an hour or two. So unmemorable that I can’t remember it. Anyway, needless to say, we were pretty excited (him more than me, in fact). There was a little stress in organising it. I wanted a damned good dance, with some damned good friends. But I live abroad, I’m out of the loop, and it’s not like I get to meet people in passing who still go out clubbing and might recommend a guaranteed sorted night out. And most of my friends lead quieter lives now, have kids, or have turned into genuine old farts (you know who you are LOL!). The request for slippers on the Christmas gift list increases every day.
So, I figured seeing as I’m officially hitting my mid-life crisis I should try wearing one of my old outfits and try out some of my old life and see how the adjustments bear up. I am pleased to announce that it did not disappoint.
I had a blinder of a night.
Brixton, I love you…
An old haunt from about fifteen years ago and features as one of the main settings in my novel-in-progress LovedUP, Brixton has still got it. After reading on an out-and-about website ‘back when Coldharbour Lane was a place that people feared to go’ I worried that Bricky had been poshed up. And if you can’t loll about in the gutter in Brixton, then London really has been taken over by the toffs.
Not that I don’t like a nice place to go either, and a nice place is just where we started the night: The Grand Union Bar in Acre Lane. This was a lovely surprise. A cosy interior with loads of character, friendly bar staff who showed infinite patience with our totally disorganised party of ten and, best of all, you get given a straw cowboy hat with a number on it when you order food. A party girl has to have a hat — the wackier the better. However, I lied. The best part wasn’t the hat at all! It was the beer garden.
I expected an open air scenario but, as I was informed by the security chap, the week before they set up a huge marquee over the top. So when we walked in it looked like some kind of Arabian Nights festival — raised fire pits to keep you warm, Persian style rugs on the floor, leather sofas and Thai-style beach bar huts you can hire, if you want. There’s a full size tuk-tuk in the middle of the garden and car booths at the back. The beer’s pricey (so’s the gin) and the food is too, for basic pub-grub. But this is London. What do you expect? As we were only stopping for a couple before moving on I didn’t make a point of exploring the drinks menu and finding out if there was a cheaper way of getting pissed. Maybe that’ll be on my next visit…
When I first put out on Facebook I wanted to go to a club that opened at 2.30 in the morning it wasn’t a surprise to find there were not very many accepted invites (except by one very eager mother-of-two who, like me, was just dying to have a fully-fledged and long overdue adults night out). When I saw them in person, the fear on my friends’ faces at the thought of staying out past ten o’clock, or possibly being dragged kicking and screaming in protest to some dingy club hammering out tekno music, was worth a photo in itself. O ye(s) of little faith…
A few pints at our second stop of the evening, the Hootananny, and oh how things change. But wait, I jump ahead. We had a three band gig going on at this venue, and all for just £3. Perfect. Although there were many events going on in London that weekend that I would have happily gone to (Trade 20th anniversary for one), I wanted to keep the evening open and inclusive — no ticket only events, no music genres that couldn’t be enjoyed by the majority (at least not in the early part of the evening), no going to outer Mongolia (i.e. Dalston) for Dance Tunnel, even if it did sound right up my ally.
The Hootananny used to be the Hobgoblin. We used to meet there before going to the Legalise It fest up in Brockwell Park, back in the early naughties. It seemed the same, only redder. And there was the added extra of a couple of food stalls within the immense beer garden, giving the evening a slightly festi feel to it — who could ask for more?
Unfortunately I didn’t catch the first band of the night, but I caught half of Gyspsy Butter’s gig. It didn’t sound as good as I’d expected. I later found that it wasn’t the band’s fault — the Hootananny sound system only sounds any good if you are right down the front by the stage, but that area isn’t huge. This is a real shame, and doesn’t do the bands that are performing there any justice. On the plus side, at least I realised this in time to get a good position for the headliners the Kalakuta Millionaires. Their leading lady Siggi is a bitch with attitude. And when I say bitch, I mean that in the fondest sense of the word. I had a chat with her afterwards and she is an absolute doll. But on stage she knows how to give it some and have her audience stand up and listen. She’s got something to say and she don’t mince any bullshit. Just like their music. You better be fit if you want to keep up with the roar that is the Kalakuta Millionaires. And, just like the crowd and the staff at the Hoot, they have a Nice And Safe Attitude.
And so, back to friends. Those with the most fear in their eyes, you remember, those who swore they were not going clubbing? They were soooo WRONG!
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