Week fifty

So in a fit of both nostalgia and memory loss I've been reminding myself of the past 49 weeks and what the hell I've been doing every week.  I simply couldn't remember them all but what I was sure of, was that not one week had been a proper night out.  You know, a messy one with dancing, meeting randoms and general naughtiness.  Now that is probably because of a couple of reasons - 1. I'm getting a bit too old, 2. those nights seem to be few and far between in London and 3. I much prefer going to house parties than raving it up in sweaty clubs (bar Ibiza).

However, the problem with that, is that there aren't too many people that have regular house parties on account of their homes getting slightly trashed - if it was a good party that is.  Regardless, if there hasn't been damage, it simply won't have been a good one if there isn't even a huge amount of work to be done clearing all the rubbish.  Cans, plastic cups and bottles being turfed outside in copious bin bags.  I've done it many times and shuddered ever so slightly when the unmistakable sound of crashing glass bottles hits the outside bins.  Urgh the humiliation.

I was then thoroughly impressed and excited when I was told that my work Xmas party this year was going to be a house party.  The company were hiring a whole house out for the evening; somewhere that gets used mostly, for photoshoots but is hireable for an evening.  The first part of the evening was just going to be the company for Xmas dinner but then we were told we could invite friends from 7.30 onwards.  Lush.

The day came and with our best party outfits on, we tumbled into some cabs and made our way to where it would only be a cliche to find a trendy house for hire in London; Dalston.  I was loving it from the second I walked through the door.  Armed with a glass of champagne I set off to explore the 4 soon to be floors of madness and merriment.

The whole place could definitely be labelled as "retro shabby chic": battered couches, peeling paintwork, vintage wallpaper and a host of wonderfully mismatched ornaments, giant chairs, strange pictures and unique furniture.  On the top floor there was a beautiful Victorian bath stood smack bang in the middle of the room - images of a French-style episode of Skins rushed through my brain. Across the hall, I loved a lonely old abacus sat in a corner.

Down on the third floor, it looked a little like a children's museum with an old rocking horse on one side of the room, an indoor tricycle on another and a mini tractor too.  Or at the very least, the person who decorated the room did it with a childish nature, what with the wall stars, zebra print hand chair and giant pouf.

Down on the ground floor in an open area was a snug area with a toasty fire, big seats and a library. Further along was where we were having our Xmas dinner and a very long beautifully laid out table had been set up.  The room has its own bar area where lots of lovely champagne flutes stood waiting to be filled and several large ice buckets sat behind the bar with a suitable variation of alcoholic beverages shoved in.

Through to the back was the kitchen where our caterers were getting dinner ready and past there was the quaint little garden, complete with plenty of wooden benching for the smokers to sit and yap.

Then to downstairs, and the basement was utterly befitting for its purpose.  Low ceilings, long, intimate couches, plenty of space for dancing, neon lighting and dark corners.  

Our dinner was delicious.  We ate ravenously, talked gregariously and drank generously.  What any Xmas dinner should be and without the worry of spillages, breakages or general dirt and mess getting everywhere.  We could just all relax and be merry.

Soon, the door bell started going and with our hired bouncer checking names off the list, our guests started arriving and the party could really begin.  There were people everywhere, mostly draping themselves along the bar, where they could first say hi to everyone, have a warm Xmas hug and grab a drink.  But, then soon enough people went exploring and started making themselves comfortable in random corners, on the stairs and in the hallway.  Its funny where people end up standing but thats the great thing about house parties, you set off somewhere with a vague plan, but then you get cornered by someone, you start chatting and your plan becomes a mushy memory.

There must have been at least 100 people there by about 10.30 and the atmosphere was warm, relaxed and erring slightly on the side of insanity.  I was loving it and even at the time I was thinking how much I wanted to saviour it.  Having a night like that filmed would, of course be utterly disastrous for so many reasons but I do always wish that I could just watch it all back the next day.

The great thing about having a house party is that pretty much every single person there is a friend of someone whose party it is.  Everyone is inextricably linked and perhaps in some cosmic way, it leads to good things, or at least thats how I like to think.  I loved it so much that I think I'm going to hire this house myself next year with a few friends and have my very own party spectacular.  It will make Human Traffic look like a Granny's tea party.

There are no doubt lots of places like this around London so if you like the idea of having a party thats a little different and without all the pain and stress, this is a great way to go.  I feel like this one should be a little secret so all I will say is that a home is where you go to roost.

Week 51 and I'm going for a little nighttime skate at Somerset House for one of their club nights.  Dancing on ice?  Yeah right, more like falling on my face on ice.