Dancing on a pole
Hey all,
I'm starting to feel better.
To finish off this latest Blast of the Blues, I'm going to the Devonshire Arms to meet up with friends, then later I'm going to get all stompy on the Noise Floor upstairs at Slimelight.
Last night went a way to cheering me up. I got to Na'ama's party later than I meant to, but it was a slow starter, so that was okay. Saw some friends there even then, but it took me a while to see that Alex B was actually crouched behind the decks in the raised DJ booth in the far corner.
Just filling in: Na'ama's Birthday thing was downstairs at a bar on Cleveland Rd, a side street off Old Portland Street. The downstairs area had a bar, a few couches, a DJ booth, a sound system and a Brass Pole in the middle of the dancefloor. Not surprising, since Na'ama's invite did say that there would be pole dancing.
What she didn't say was that she would be pole dancing in a vinyl catsuit at her own party. Still, it's her party, and she'll dance if she wants to.
Of course, before pole-dancing mayhem broke out, we entertained ourselves trying to make balloon animals. I think I impressed some folk because I was one of the only people able to blow up the skinny balloons (I still have some of my Metal Singer Lungs left). But it was still heavy going for me.
A in between balloon animals a friend of mine who used to be involved with publishing gave me useful little tips, like get involved with a writer's group, and try Inertia, a local magazine, to see if they wanted anyone writing stuff for them.
I also gave into temptation and took a couple of twirls on the pole, in the process developing a new respect for pole dancers everywhere. Seriously, dancing on a pole is incredibly demanding, physically. Hours later and some of my muscles were still hurting.
Richie turned up later with Darryl (the Art-director for Terrorizer), having been at a Death Metal show, and talked me into going to a party at a club in Camberwell.
The Camberwell party turned out to be kinda crap, not to mention cold, but it did give me an opportunity to pick Richie's brains about Terrorizer.
Of course, by 0330 I was bored off my tits, and wondering how the hell I was going to get home. And my toes were starting to hurt from the cold.
Thankfully the DJ's changed and started playing some harder gabba stuff, and some of us commandeered a broken Fusball table and became Fusball Hooligans.
After three toe-freezing hours (it has been brutally cold in London lately) me and two french kids jumped on the bus up to Oxford Circus (actually, they got off at Elephant and Castle, but I continued all the way).
On the way I passed one nasty head on collision and a subway/tube station or something where the police were already taping it off. Dodgy.
Did I mention that my travelcard had run out at 0400? Fortunately it was a bendy bus with a reader in the middle, so I pretended to put my Oyster Card on the scanner. It's not something I do all the time, and I was going to get my Oyster Card updated as soon as I got to Oxford Circus, so it just seemed like a minor infraction.
Anyways, Oxford Circus to Central line, Central line home and into my warm bed.
Neato.
Other news: after constant frustration with 1001 Arabian Nights I have set it aside as my Tube Book and instead started reading Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell, something my Mother recommended months ago. And so far I am finding it a rewarding, if slightly frightening read.
Anyways, I am so late.
Gotta go.
Over and out.
J
I'm starting to feel better.
To finish off this latest Blast of the Blues, I'm going to the Devonshire Arms to meet up with friends, then later I'm going to get all stompy on the Noise Floor upstairs at Slimelight.
Last night went a way to cheering me up. I got to Na'ama's party later than I meant to, but it was a slow starter, so that was okay. Saw some friends there even then, but it took me a while to see that Alex B was actually crouched behind the decks in the raised DJ booth in the far corner.
Just filling in: Na'ama's Birthday thing was downstairs at a bar on Cleveland Rd, a side street off Old Portland Street. The downstairs area had a bar, a few couches, a DJ booth, a sound system and a Brass Pole in the middle of the dancefloor. Not surprising, since Na'ama's invite did say that there would be pole dancing.
What she didn't say was that she would be pole dancing in a vinyl catsuit at her own party. Still, it's her party, and she'll dance if she wants to.
Of course, before pole-dancing mayhem broke out, we entertained ourselves trying to make balloon animals. I think I impressed some folk because I was one of the only people able to blow up the skinny balloons (I still have some of my Metal Singer Lungs left). But it was still heavy going for me.
A in between balloon animals a friend of mine who used to be involved with publishing gave me useful little tips, like get involved with a writer's group, and try Inertia, a local magazine, to see if they wanted anyone writing stuff for them.
I also gave into temptation and took a couple of twirls on the pole, in the process developing a new respect for pole dancers everywhere. Seriously, dancing on a pole is incredibly demanding, physically. Hours later and some of my muscles were still hurting.
Richie turned up later with Darryl (the Art-director for Terrorizer), having been at a Death Metal show, and talked me into going to a party at a club in Camberwell.
The Camberwell party turned out to be kinda crap, not to mention cold, but it did give me an opportunity to pick Richie's brains about Terrorizer.
Of course, by 0330 I was bored off my tits, and wondering how the hell I was going to get home. And my toes were starting to hurt from the cold.
Thankfully the DJ's changed and started playing some harder gabba stuff, and some of us commandeered a broken Fusball table and became Fusball Hooligans.
After three toe-freezing hours (it has been brutally cold in London lately) me and two french kids jumped on the bus up to Oxford Circus (actually, they got off at Elephant and Castle, but I continued all the way).
On the way I passed one nasty head on collision and a subway/tube station or something where the police were already taping it off. Dodgy.
Did I mention that my travelcard had run out at 0400? Fortunately it was a bendy bus with a reader in the middle, so I pretended to put my Oyster Card on the scanner. It's not something I do all the time, and I was going to get my Oyster Card updated as soon as I got to Oxford Circus, so it just seemed like a minor infraction.
Anyways, Oxford Circus to Central line, Central line home and into my warm bed.
Neato.
Other news: after constant frustration with 1001 Arabian Nights I have set it aside as my Tube Book and instead started reading Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell, something my Mother recommended months ago. And so far I am finding it a rewarding, if slightly frightening read.
Anyways, I am so late.
Gotta go.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 8:24 pm
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