Are You Game?, 23rd September

What do you get when you cross funfair games, a gameshow and a cabaret and throw in a heavy pinch of smut? You get Are You Game by Fowl Cabaret that’s what!

I had no idea what to expect from this ‘interactive gameshow’ but what I got was a whole lot of fun. And I wasn’t even drinking! Sober fun!

We got there and I immediately regretted my ‘day job’ clothes as we and took in everyone else’s outfits and were greeted by a sparkly Unicorn man. People in the know had dressed for the occasion. We were given a couple of tokens and, even though we read the ‘rules’ (No biting – only with consent) weren’t really much the wiser as to what was going on. But it soon became clear. The evening started with some games you could take part in, using your tokens to ‘pay’ to take part and if you won, you got more tokens. Why would you want more tokens? Well – to play the other games and to take part in the installations. And to win the coveted Egg Cup award at the end.

Games on offer were Ball Buster, Panty Pinging, Scrapple, and Waft of Fortune. Each was manned by a madcap gamesmaster who took on a larger than life character. I never found out how Scrapple worked, but I tried all the others. Waft of Fortune involved spinning the wheel and trying to guess the smell you landed on. I failed. Then we tried Ball Buster – tying some pantyhose that had two balls in the legs around your waste and then trying to knock down some little cones before your opponent. It was much tougher than it sounds especially when you're laughing the whole time. And finally, we pinged some panties which had the longest build up and explanation of a game ever – far too long-winded to go into here (it involved lots of screaming and selfies). 

Then we were all called over to the stage where the main even began. First, Mystal Craze – the chance to compete for a private ‘show’ no one else would see, and of course, some sort of glory. Two teams were pitched against each other and had to a) create a structure out of cheese and pineapple, b) decorate a cake blindfolded and c) eat doughnuts off their teammate without using their hands. Naturally these doughnuts were arranged as a bra and a pair of knickers.

We then had a musical interlude from Dr Clive singing about cross-dressing pirates and cannibalism.

We were granted a short break to continue the game-playing mayhem and investigate the installations. We entered the Church of Clarkson, a bizarre shrine to Mr Jeremy C where we were accepted into the fold after a short sermon (a reading of The World According to Clarkson) and promising to renounce Corbyn and Piers Morgan and vote Tory.

Later on, we were lucky enough to enter the Love Stop café where we indulged in a three course meal of finger dancing, shoulder massage and then a tasty dessert of dancing and complimenting. This was a meal to nourish your heart, not your stomach.

We then returned to watch the last interactive games and the final acts on stage – some guy sticking a drill up his nose and turning it on, someone doing a striptease that featured cracking eggs down her naked body and culminated with pouring copious amounts of baked beans all over herself. You know, the usual.

All of this was expertly hosted by the deliciously sexy Lolo Brow who makes any event worth a visit.

I didn’t know what to expect but I loved what I got. They promised an even bigger and better show for next time though how they can top that I do not know. 

The Moth, 7th January

The Moth is a hugely popular import from NYC – and downstairs at the Book Club seemed the perfect place for it. The Moth, is a story slam. That’s right. You’ve heard of poetry slams I’m sure. Well the same construct is applied here, but to stories. Real stories told by real people. Ten people, who volunteer on the night. And then they are judged. They are judged by other people who volunteer on the night. And, as long as you get enough people brave enough to tell their story, it works really, really well.

I imagine that getting people up on stage to tell a short, 5 minute story (you get timed) isn’t such a problem in the States where everyone is eager to have their time in the spotlight. Over here, at the event I went to, it required a lot of cajoling. Or maybe it was because the subject was Blunders and basically meant telling embarrassing stories about yourself. Actually, I suspect a lot of people went with the intention of telling a story, they just needed to work up the nerve to do it once they got there. It turned out that 12 people signed up in the end, so two people didn’t get to share their tales of shame. The order is picked completely at random so you can’t sign up safe in the knowledge that 10 people have signed up before you. You could even end up first on stage.

None of my group were brave enough, or could think of a story that could be eked out to the full 5 minutes, to put our names in the hat. But, if you are shy, there is another way to contribute: anonymously.

Everyone who attended was asked to write an answer to the question “What is a mistake you won’t make again?” on a piece of paper. These were read out, at random, every now and again to break up the storytelling on stage. Most of them were pretty snappy and hilarious, making me regret even putting in a submission. As the evening wore on I thought I would get away without mine being read but just before we left Charlie Partridge, our host, said he’d like to do one more and it was mine! Great relief, then, when it got more than a few laughs.

But, having said that, by this time the audience was well and truly warmed up. We had been treated to all sorts of mishaps ranging from being proposed to and saying yes when you didn’t mean it to taking a shower when your mates are on safari and narrowly missing a lion entering your bedroom to not noticing it was Jude Law you were serving so stroppily under a hangover.

As ever, with amateurs, the raconteur quality varied but most of them were pretty good at telling their story. They all did fit the theme and none of them were particularly boring. The best, by far (and happily the one that won) was a very simple story. It was the story of the most expensive apple in the world. Because did you know that when you order online at Tesco you get charged £6.50 delivery? Yes, even if, by mistake, you order a single apple, which is what one speaker did. Such a simple mistake, one we could all imagine doing, with such embarrassing fallout – having to take delivery of said single apple, for example, and live with the shame of having paid so much for it. It spoke to us all. And Holly’s comic timing was spot on.

The Moth is now on monthly at The Book Club and I would recommend it. It’s not perhaps as soul searching as Natural Born Storytellers can be, but it was a lot of fun. 

Electro Swing, 20th April

Sometimes you go on a night out and it is so exhilarating it leaves you smiling all the next day. Electro Swing on Saturday night was a night like that.

Now, I do think a lot of credit has to go to the people I was out with - a lovely bunch who were up for making the most of the night and not afraid to get dancing. People after my own heart. But the music on the night must take it’s due.

Vintage nights are all the rage at the moment, and most have some sort of musical aspect to them – music from the era, or more likely, modern songs done in a vintage style. Electro swing takes that and turns it on its head. It uses vintage music – swing, jazz – and puts modern beats behind it. Any kind of modern beat will work as long as it is skilfully done. So, after a slightly out of character ease in with The Cure’s The Love Cats, we gradually entered the world of Electro Swing – a world where you could easily be dancing to a classic house beat one minute, then a jungle track the next, all with this slightly surreal old-timey music over the top. It’s very high energy, it’s infectious, the crowd loved it and so did I. And anyone remember the Doop song? I didn’t until it cropped up in the set either. It fit in seamlessly with the ethos of the night.

Upstairs, was a quasi-silent disco happening. It wasn’t silent, but there were headphones being handed out (if you were lucky enough to get one) that you could wear on whichever floor you wanted and tune in to either the music being played at the bar or the electro swing downstairs. I thought this was a little odd, as one of the fun things about being in a silent disco is the silent part when you take your headphones off, but whatever, people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Downstairs in the increasingly sweaty basement where the main event was taking place, there was a makeshift stage in front of the DJs which people eagerly clambered onto. The place was absolutely rammed. It’s clearly a popular night – it used to happen monthly at the Book Club but they seemed to have taken a sabbatical from it for a while – I kept my eyes peeled for months before I noticed they were back and perhaps it was so full as people were making the most of this rare opportunity. Or perhaps it is just a testament to the popularity of The Book Club, no matter what night is on.

And now, please join me in a rant...

As I have attested before, I have a bit of a love affair with The Book Club. I love the variety of nights it holds, the venue is cool, the street parties it hosts are fun. But that love affair has soured somewhat.  For while Electro Swing exceeded all expectations, leaving me with a surplus of good vibes, The Book Club failed to live up to my own expectations and seriously marred my evening, due to the rather puzzling behaviour of the head door man.

Last night was actually a Meetup I was hosting and I had already entered the club with around 20 or so people but a few people had yet to join us. I got a text from one of them saying they weren't being allowed entry.

There had been a misunderstanding about how the three of them knew each other and for some reason this was cause enough to deny them entry. Naturally they weren't very happy about this as they had done nothing wrong. Everyone knows you cannot antagonise the door staff; sadly, they hold all the power and it doesn't matter how irrational, or how petty or how just plain wrong they are, they have the final call on whether your night sinks or swims. And should you have the gall to voice your opinion on their behaviour within ear shot, then apparently that is also a valid enough reason to refuse you entry (presumably because their feelings have been hurt - bouncers seem to be unnaturally thin-skinned). I had come out and explained what the situation was – but to deaf ears. The bouncer had been ‘insulted’ and no explanation or even apology would persuade him to change his mind. There was no one else I was allowed to talk to about this. It didn’t matter that if he'd been reasonable to begin with, no angry words would have been uttered at all. In any other customer-facing arena the fact that once the situation was explained and he could see that he’d been in the wrong, we would have probably, in fact, been let in and offered an apology. But no, not when it comes to door staff.

I was in a bit of a bind – I had 20-odd other people whose night I didn’t want to spoil by taking them out of the Book Club, with no Plan B, or I had to let these three go off and try to find something else to do – three people I felt responsible for. In the end they went with good grace towards me, luckily Shoreditch isn’t short of places who would welcome their custom. But it left a bitter taste in my mouth and it took me a while before the magic of Electro Swing could sway me out of the funk. There is a lot to be said for how much feelings of frustration and injustice can prey on you.

I know the Book Club isn’t the only venue guilty of having bouncers that are Little Caesars. If I swore never to set foot in any venue at which I'd been less than impressed by the door staff I would spend most of my Saturday nights drinking in my flat. But I will certainly pause for thought before going here again, and if any other venue is holding a similar night, I would choose that venue over this. Perhaps the disappointment is greater because I had held the Book Club in such high regard.

Itchy Feet (Dance Academy), 11th April

I have been saying for ages that I’d love a chance to swing … dance that is! (ha ha ha… sooo hilarious) Or jive. Or lindy hop. Any of those moves that drive me green with envy when I go to a retro night and watch everyone else who seems to know what they’re doing and just look so damn good doing it tearing up the dance floor. (And some of them go pretty quickly - you need to be pretty brave to venture on there.)

And I know there are plenty of places offering lessons in such things, but I wasn’t sure about going to proper lessons on my own (my boyfriend not being inclined to join me).

During one of my customary sweeps of my List to see if anything on there is coming up soon, I discovered that Itchy Feet run something they call a Dance Academy, where they teach you some jive-type moves! Not only this, but rather like Dr Sketchy, where the focus is on the drinking rather than the drawing, there was a heavy emphasis on the cocktail side of things. They said you can turn up without a partner and it all seemed geared toward the curious amateur. It sounded perfect.

I organised a Meetup to it, so there were quite a few of us going. We had a couple of drinks beforehand for some dutch courage and then went into the Book Club where we had a couple more just to be on the safe side. I don’t need to document here my love of the Book Club, least of all because I will be back there fairly soon to give my judgement on Electro Swing which is hosted there sporadically. I love the Book Club for its eclectic lineup of events and tasty drinks.

Anyway, so we were all down in the basement waiting for the lessons to start. Only 100 tickets are sold for this, which doesn’t sound like many but actually showing some dance moves to such a number in not a huge space is a bit tricky, and the group had to be split in two and take turns. (This gave everyone plenty of time in between to either practise what they’d just learned, or have another drink and start to forget it.)

You lined up with your partner across the aisle from you and the girl first showed us two basic moves – the first of which I didn't catch the name, the other the box step. We then practised this on our own until we felt a bit silly. Then we advanced towards our partners, and attempted to mesh what we had been doing with what they had been doing. I must say, I had quite an accomplished partner and we seemed to be doing rather well at it.

Our instructor then went slowly through the moves of incorporating a turn, and even this didn’t put us off our stride. She went around the room to check on the couples and give little pointers if needed, but I’m pretty sure she uttered a ‘whoop!’ when she went past us. *smug much*

Then it was a break and the next lot were taught what we’d now ‘perfected’.

I had an aperol spritz, a cocktail I’d just discovered at a wedding and went through some of the steps again. Dressing up is optional but if you don’t have anything to hand to wear, Itchy Feet provide a little treasure trove of accessories and whatnot to jazz up your outfit and the breaks in between give you a chance to rummage a little – just remember to return what you’ve borrowed!

Soon enough our group was called back to the floor.

This time, the instructor was a little sneaky. We lined up as before, but she took one of the girls from the girl side down to the other end of the line thus ensuring weshifted along by one and had a new partner to work with. I ended up with some guy I didn’t know, whose girlfriend was next to me. Naturally - because the likelihood was that you were dancing with someone you didn’t know - this was when the instructor introduced the most intimate move we’d learned all night; a back turn that lead you to being pulled into your partner. The guy I was dancing with wasn’t quite as savvy as my previous partner, but he was fun and friendly, and luckily so was his girlfriend who didn’t seem to mind us practicing such moves on each other. One of my friends reported she was in a similar situation and the girlfriend next to her wasn’t as happy about it, snatching her man back as soon as possible!

After the second group had had their go that was that. We’d learned as much as we were going to that night and I was satisfied with that amount. We’d been practising our moves to some 50s music and that music continued after the lesson was over. Almost immediately everyone's just-gleaned knowldge was thrown out the window and they resorted to stock 50s moves like the ‘mashed potato’ and the ‘twist’ but a few of us tried to consolidate our learning for next time. The music was top notch – all recognisable rock n roll classics of the era – some Elvis, some Little Richard, Do You Love Me from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. All stuff it was hard to resist dancing to.

I’d definitely recommend the Itchy Feet Dance Academy to anyone who wants to get into this kind of thing but is hesitant to start. I’d go again myself though I don’t know if they teach different things each time. It really is for the complete beginner. Still – it remains to be seen whether I’ve definitely remembered the moves and if I’ve forgotten I’d certainly go back for a refresher course. And of course, having had a taster of the kind of music they play, I will also make sure to go to one of their regular Itchy Feet parties.

Cocktail crawl, Saturday 24th September

I met my friend Alison at her hotel room where we commenced the beginning of a two week period of festivities, celebrating that we will get copious amounts of talking done face to face (a rarity for us as she lives in the States). To get us in the mood I brought with me a bag of goodies: cheese straws, two toffee apple cupcakes from Hummingbird (the best place for cupcakes), a bottle of Prosecco and some peach puree for making bellinis. It lent the afternoon quite a decadent feel. We prettied ourselves up and finished off the last of the peach puree with some Patron tequila Alison happened to stuff her boots with. Not the best ‘cocktail’ in the world, but we’re nothing if not stoic when it comes to imbibing alcohol.

We were ready to embark on our cocktail crawl and headed across town to the first destination.

The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town

This way to the Thrills

I’m now somewhat torn here because part of the appeal about going to this place is it has this one gimmick, which makes it feel like a properly hidden away illicit drinking den. I already knew what this gimmick was, and my friend didn’t. I did appreciate it, but I could see the sheer delight on her face when the trick up their sleeve was revealed and I wouldn’t want to rob anyone of that experience. So, let’s just say, the entrance isn’t what you think. Once you have been granted access, a neon sign kindly points you in the right direction for the ‘Thrills’. We got there at about 7:30, an hour later than planned and we had a choice of two seating areas – by the bar or at a little table. We took the bar option. Experience has taught us to be as close to the people serving you alcohol as possible, and also that bartenders are often hot, so why not sit where you can look at them more easily. We ordered the chilli and lemongrass margarita. It was elegantly served in the correct glasses, with a thin strip of lemongrass threaded through a slice of chilli as garnish. It was pleasantly warm and a perfectly drinkable drink. Time ticked away quickly and we realised we had to hot foot it to the next place if we wanted to keep to schedule. Just as we were finishing up, the barkeep was putting together another cocktail, when all of a sudden, the raspberry concoction was all over the bar, not in its glass where it should be. I managed to move my bag out the way and partially my body but the drink still managed to get my leg and part of my skirt. I went to the bathroom to clean it up while Alison settled the bill. I came back and asked if we’d been given any compensation but apart from a genuine apology, we didn’t manage to get any freebies out of it. That’s a black mark in my opinion.



The Whistling Shop

So, it was now 8:30. We had 9:00 reservations at Callooh Callay, but the original plan was to go to the Whistling Shop before that. We debated about whether we could really squeeze it in, and rather rashly, decided we could and we would. In all honesty, we couldn’t, but we did it anyway. We walked up to Worship Street, walking much further up and farther away from the populated area than I was expecting. We walked in and I instantly regretted having spent so long in Scaredy Cat Town and missing out on being able to make the most of this place. It was all dark wood and tea lights, and even though it didn’t have a hidden entrance, walking inside made you feel like you were entering some tucked away, little known place. We told the guy who greeted us that we were on a tight schedule and needed to get a drink as quickly as possible. They asked us why the rush and when we told them, agreed that we really shouldn’t miss out on those reservations and were fully behind getting us served and out again as quickly as possible. The cocktail list sounded amazing. They take a ‘scientific’ approach to cocktailing making, apparently experimenting with different flavour combinations in their laboratory. Many of the cocktails include ingredients like “WS2 exhaustion tonic”, which are mixtures of their own invention and require a glossary at the back of the menu to figure out what they are. We wanted to make as much of the choices available as we could, so we ordered different drinks to each other - House Gin Fizz and the Panacea.

House Gin Fizz: Tanqueray gin, lemon juice, extra virgin olive oil, vanilla salt, orange bitters, soda
Panacea: Compass Box whisky, honey and lavender shrub, lemon juice, sage dust.

Yes, sage dust.

Both were enjoyable to drink and had an interesting taste, with a creamy topping, but I think Alison and I preferred the Panacea, probably because it was so unlike any other drink we’d had before. The gin fizz was nice (and very quaffable once we realised we’d gone past our imposed 10 minute time limit) but it was just a gin fizz. Nothing as cool as sage dust in it. The cocktails backed up my instinctive reaction that we should have spent more time here. The downside is that the drinks are quite pricey, and the place was eerily empty. There was one other group in there, but otherwise the place was dead. I assume this is because it feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere, even though Shoreditch is only a few streets away.



Callooh Callay

We raced out of there and into the night again. In totally the wrong direction. We came out onto a street I had hoped was going to be either Bishopsgate or Great Eastern and was in fact Moorgate. My sense of direction is obliterated once I drink and Alison doesn’t know the area. A taxi came by and we made the executive decision to get in it. We told him the street name and the venue. It was 9:05. He hadn’t heard of Callooh Callay but he did know the street. Two minutes later, he pulled over, stopped the clock and confessed he couldn’t remember how to get there. 30 seconds later and he’d dredged his memory and we were on our way again.

Cassette tapes are used as wallpaper

We made it at about 9:15. We weren’t too drunk by this point and had been sensible enough to call when we knew we were going to be late and tell them we were lost but on our way. Got to the door and presented ourselves to the doorman. Our names weren’t on the list. I think you’ll agree that it was all going really well by this point. However, I wasn’t too worried. I had email confirmation of our reservations and they had called me the day before to confirm (always a nice touch and something that should happen more often in this country) and I’d spoken to someone who seemed to be expecting us just 10 minutes earlier on the phone. Soon enough, the manager came out and let us in. He also complimented me on my outfit, so it more than made up for the few minutes’ wait at the door. We were then led through the throng and indeed through the looking glass (or rather, fake wardrobe) to the Jub Jub bar at the back, only available for those with reservations.  We had many, many cocktails, and I really can’t remember what on earth they were. The menu also changes regularly so I can’t even look it up to remind myself. It had lots of nice, quirky touches, like the cocktail list being on a comic strip, and having reservations meant we were waited on at the table instead of going to the bar, which makes such a nice change when you’re out drinking. We had pre-ordered food, which arrived about 15 minutes after we did. We ate mini brie quiches, goat’s cheese bruschetta, lime, chilli and ginger crab spoons and some tarragon salted, buttery popcorn. All absolutely delicious, if a little underfilling. We thought about ordering some more food but in the end ordered more cocktails to fill us up instead. As we were sitting there, a waiter went by with a massive bowl flanked by what looked like four little gnomes. This, I think was the £55 cocktail you could order to share between 6 of you, which I think we also did see a group of maybe 5 boys finishing off when we arrived.

The original plan was to move on to yet another cocktail bar (Ninety Eight bar and lounge), but we were so comfortable there, the drinks were coming at a pleasing rate and were doing their job on our sobriety so we just stayed there instead until about 12:00.

But we couldn’t stay there all night – we had dancing on the agenda. So we walked round to The Book Club. I’ve already been here a couple of times, they have quite a varied programme of nights on. I’d been there for a hip hop mashup night hosted by Scroobius Pip and I went to Bookstock, the street party they hosted. So I thought their Rock n roll Saturday night would be worthwhile. Unfortunately, so did a lot of other people and when we got there, there was a not insubstantial queue. We considered our other options, especially as time was ticking on, it was £5 entrance fee and it only stayed open until 2. But that was the case with most of the other places I could think of so we waited it out, got in and made the most of the hour and a half we had in there. We befriended these three guys who were in the queue in front of us, and then turned up at the bar when we were, and we bebopped about a bit with them. All too quickly the lights were being turned up and we had to leave. I never had the slightest intention of going home so early and had scoured the internet to find somewhere to finish our night. I came across somewhere I’d never heard of but fit exactly the bill. Originally I had planned that we would go to The Bathhouse in Liverpool Street, only to find that they were closing two weeks before I planned to go. They play rock and roll/retro music and now I was in the mood for that kind of thing. The Book Club happened to do it, but as we’ve just covered, only stayed open until 2. I needed more. And I needed it to be within easy reach of Shoreditch so that we didn’t waste time and money getting there. It took me a while, but I finally unearthed Ye Olde Axe.



Ye Olde Axe

Apparently this place is a strip club. It’s just up the road from Brown’s so I can believe that. It also has a phenomenally large bouncer, which I consider evidence of stripping taking place. But when the clock strikes midnight, that element of it shuts down and it turns into a rockabilly venue. And it stays open until 6 am(ish). We headed up there, with a new addition to the party (one of the guys we’d met at The Book Club. I’d heard that this is where everyone heads when all the other venues have shut so I was a little worried we wouldn’t get in, or it would be too crowded to be enjoyable, but my fears were unwarranted. It’s an odd venue. A bit like the Horse & Groom, it’s clearly just a pub (I think I remember beams and banquettes), that happens to stay open late, plays great music and people dance. At least, I think they do. I would ask the honourable reader to remember that my companion and I had started drinking at about half four in the afternoon, and so by the time we reached Ye Olde Axe, my memory faculties weren’t firing on all cylinders. I know they were playing music I liked, from the 50s and 60s era, but the only song I can actually remember is ‘I Just Want to Make Love to You’, chiefly because Alison and I engaged in a bit of playful lesbian writhing. It’s understandable – that song is pure sex. My abiding memory is of thinking this place was great and knowing it was now going to become my official ‘go to’ place for the after hours in Shoreditch.

Once again we stayed until basically, we were made to go, and then we went our separate ways. The night had finished, over 12 hours after it had begun.

Sunday 25th September

As a footnote, I want to add that we spent the afternoon and evening of Sunday at The Book Club again. It doesn’t get its own entry because ‘if it’s not on the list, it’s not going in’ but it’s worth a mention. We discovered they do bloody lovely Sunday Roasts. And they’re bloody huge as well. My friend and I shared one and didn’t even finish it between us. They also do ‘DIY’ bloody marys so you can make them as spicy as you like. Apparently they play blues in the downstairs bit starting from about 7 but it was 9 pm before I remembered we had wanted to see what that was like, and we were pretty comfortable where we were. I’d highly recommend it.