24 November 2008

Some months ago, Schroeder expressed an interest in getting tickets to the Warehouse Project... some DJ he knew was playing and it was basically just an opportunity to get as mashed as possible. So i got a ticket, not really knowing what to expect and not really caring because it was so far away. I figured everyone else of my generation seemed to have been to a rave sort of thing at some point, why shouldn't i? This week as the event loomed, excitement amongst the group grew and i started to shit myself. A rave? What am i doing going to a rave at my age!

I predicted the order of proceedings on Friday...

6pm finish work
6.15pm arrive home from work - get straight in shower, wash/dry/straighten hair
7pm get into bed for a nap
8.30pm wake up, get dressed (including getting changed 15 times), slap make up on
9pm ring and find out where everyone else is
9.30pm after further procrastination and outfit changes, leave the flat
9.45pm find gang and get first drink in
11pm locate warehouse party
11.15pm get drinks in, start bopping
11.30pm Columbo bored of warehouse party and starts petitioning to leave
1am Mars bored of warehouse party and starts petitioning to leave
2am leave warehouse party and make way back to Schroeder and Columbo's flat
2.15am continue party in flat - now known as 'flat party'
2.30am assume regular positions as night takes on familiar feel
4am lose a few to booze and sleep requirements
5am realise flat party is running dry of supplies
5.30am desperation sets in as we try to obtain supplies
6.30am realise party is over
7am go to bed
3pm wake up - begin two day recovery process

Although close, it wasn't exactly how it ended up happening. Best laid plans and all that... Basically my 'nap' was slightly longer than i intended, and the waking up process wasn't exactly as speedy as i'd anticipated. So at around 10pm i set off to meet the group up in the Northern Quarter, about a 20 minute walk from my house. Bad idea - was wearing new boots and feet got thoroughly butchered. Anyway, found the gang who were just about to move to another bar.

Ever since picking up these tickets two months ago, Schroeder has been begging me to 'put the tickets in a safe place!'... i deemed my wallet was a pretty safe place, and although he didn't think it was a good idea to keep them on my person in case i lost my bag or something, i figured they were right next to my passport which is one thing i like to have with me, just in case i wanna do one out of this country at a moment's notice. ANYWAY, for reasons unknown, i thought i'd leave my passport and wallet at home last night, and just take out what i needed.

We moved on to another bar and were ordering drinks as i stuck my hand down my top to pull out my money, Columbo asks what the hell i'm doing. I explained that i didn't bring my wallet tonight, just the essentials. Schroeder looks at me saying 'you remembered the tickets though, right?'... Uhh... It took a good couple of minutes to convince Columbo and Schroeder that i wasn't joking when i said i didn't have them, and it wasn't until i started backing out of the pub that they finally believed me. Fucking fuck!

So i get a taxi, zoom back to my house, collect tickets, zoom back to bar. About to order a drink, when someone notices written on the tickets it says LAST ENTRY 11.30pm. It was at that point 11.25pm and panic ensues. Drinks are abandoned, not that i ever had one - and all seven of us pile into a taxi. I am the last one to hop in and there is a distinct lack of space as i dither at the door the group yells at me to GET IN. No where to sit, so i plonk myself on the floor, certain of imminent death.

As i appear to be the only girl in the group wearing a bra, it was therefore my responsibility to smuggle the drugs in, it was a rave after all. We line up and i notice an absolute plethora of police and security and the fact that i still haven't managed to get one single drink in starts to effect proceedings. Tried to be cool, but couldn't help wondering if i'd get deported for getting caught with so many pills on me. Thankfully (most likely due to my age and apparent sobriety) i was not stopped or checked at all. Result.

We're in the rave, the DJ they all wanted to see starts and we barge our way through the crowd (as you do at these things) and find a spot. I can't help but laugh at myself being in this position. Stone cold sober, getting shoved, elbowed and stood on by fuckwits, listening to this sort of scratch music i don't really dig and feeling thoroughly ridiculous... Everyone in there is about 19 years old, little scenester-types - some wearing sunglasses, some wearing lycra and fluro, others wearing jeans hoodies and backpacks, some shirtless up on other people's shoulders but one thing they all have in common is that they're on a mission, barging through the crowd, every one's got somewhere else to be. So i drop my first pill in the hope things will improve and make motions to Columbo about trying to find the bar.

We find the bar and there appear to be two choices - bottled water or cans of Budweiser. I decide i'll take one of each... 'Wun wordah and wun Buhd ploise' i say. Apparently when i try to talk really loud my accent suddenly sound like i'm from Queensland or something. The girl behind the bar just looks at me, Columbo looks at me, so i say it again... like they would. 'Wohn wa'er and a cun o' Bood thunks'. This time she gets it.

More pushing, shoving and getting stomped on, i start bopping.. but as usual, after about an hour i convince myself that 'it's not working' and decide to drop another. I check myself and my stylin', but when i look down, i'm not exactly sure of what i see. I appear to be pulling a move which can only be described at the 'heel and toe'. No, this wont do at all. A couple of beers later, an elbow in the boob, getting landed on by a massive dude 'dancing' and the whole scenario starts to wear a bit thin. It's about 2am and i'm bored of the rave now - been there done that. Columbo also seems bored of the rave too, but she doesn't want to leave as she's got two friends from Sheffield over for the night, and they want to stay.

Smiley is Schroeder's friend from university. I didn't get much chance to talk to her, but every time i looked at her, she gave me a big smile and an encouraging two thumbs up. Her friend, Ducky (cause she looked like a duck, obvs) made me laugh though, because she was so prissy.

At one point, i was wandering around with Ducky, looking for Columbo and Smiley. Schreoder was doing some serious bopping by this point, and somewhat uninterested in the apparent loss of Columbo and Smiley, he gives Ducky his phone as she's convinced they've gone off home. So she's stood in the middle of this open part of the warehouse, pouting while on this phone, ringing Columbo and Schroeder's home phone. Little did she know that the ringer is broken, so there'd be no way anyone would hear that - but i just let her go on, she was getting a bit stressed, so it was good she had something to concentrate on.

A fight breaks out near where we're standing and i swiftly jump out the way. I tried to grab Ducky and the phone, but she saw the men lunging towards us herself and shoved me out the way as she trotted off. Fine Ducky, was only trying to help - you're on your own. Anyway, Columbo and Smiley finally reappear and there is another conference on who's leaving and who's staying. This took quite a while - i already had my hat and coat on by this point, so am guessing it was pretty clear that i was leaving.

Issue resolved and Schroeder and Smiley are staying with the others who came with us, and Columbo, Ducky and myself are off home in a taxi. Ducky didn't bring a coat - she had on these short shorts and a singlet with these massive shoes which weighed more than she did - the weight actually looked like it could have snapped her skinny leg. She trots out of the warehouse and declares how cold she is. Not surprised, it was probably below zero. We start walking up the road looking for a taxi and Ducky spots one up the street turning around a corner.

She starts trot-running, waving her arms in all directions and squealing after this cab. She sees it slow down, but then as it starts to speed up, she starts squealing at it again. A really high pitched squeal, still waving her arms all over the place and trot-running off down the street. By the time Columbo and i caught up with her she was sitting snugly in the cab, but i couldn't stop laughing at the sight of her squealing after this taxi.

Anyway - i went home and the party in my bed started. Naturally sleep completely evaded me and my body temperature must have dropped about 15 degrees. For someone that 'it wasn't working' for, i suddenly realised i was more cained than originally suspected. Anyway, persist with trying to sleep before finally starting to come down at about 5am.

Tickets for party - twenty pounds
New dress - fifteen pounds
New boots - thirty five pounds
Predictable party drugs - six pounds
Wasted taxi money - fifteen pounds
The only person in the rave wearing Bridget Jones undies? Priceless


dot said...

my comments to our Youth Correspondent are:

send me a picture of these new boots.

fluro and lyrca... still?!?

don't British girls wear bras?

i can't believe they serve Budweiser at raves in Manchester!

don't do drugs!

Columbo said...

You missed out that that DJ Yoda sampled Stevie Wonder!

Re. new boots - really cool but really do look like the most unlikely candidates to tear feet to shreds - flat and slouchy/comfy looking

Fluro / lycra - not still, its back, and now called nu rave...(!)

Yes British girls do wear bras, but not when they're wearing 1950s boned dresses!

Budweiser - neither can I - may as well served just water

kiki said...

why serve just water? You guys bought bud...