I don’t want to sound like a stereotypical Manc here, but the music was fucking mint. The first DJ played garage, then I can’t really remember the specifics but I remember grabbing people and saying ‘This is well better than Deadmau5!’ It was all nineties sort of stuff, here are a couple of the highlights I remember (and know the names of):
They even played 'Lyrical Gangsta' that I'd been listening to on the Metro earlier on in the day, before I even knew if I'd make it or not. The moment was so similar to how I had been imagining earlier in the day that I felt like I'd teleported myself from the metro in Paris to the carpark in London.
At about half four people started talking about leaving and I got that horrible feeling you get when you’re having the best time ever and it suddenly hits you that it has to end, soon. I wonder if life is like that? One day in your mid-sixties it will be like the 4.30am Of Your Life and you’ll be enjoying a brisk country walk and suddenly stop and say ‘It has to end, soon.’
I wish I could transport myself back to that time and place! The venue was perfect, apart from it being freezing. The only lights were the ones on us, the ravers; you couldn’t even see the DJs because they were in the shadows. It was the opposite of Deadmau5, which was good, but Soul Clap was better.
The anxiety and Travel Panic didn’t cross my mind all night. The moment it disappeared completely was the moment I stepped off the tube at Earl’s Court. Being surrounded by Geezers and Lads all drunk or twisted but all having a good time and looking forward to a good night just made me feel so… at home. I’ve never wanted to be one of those nobs you meet on holiday who goes ‘I hate abroad, England’s the best’ and you feel like saying ‘Why didn’t you go on holiday to Buxton then?!’ but there is nothing like moving to another country to make you appreciate England.
The panic came back mildly when I went to collect my bag at the end of the night. All my Eurostar tickets were in there… but my bag was fine, even if it stank like damp car park because the cloak room was essentially a bit of floor marked out with poles.
I had to get my passport out at Soul Clap as well (mainly for the bouncers to snigger at, although at least in London they don't say 'That's not you, that's Myra Hindley girl!' like the 'hilarious' bouncers in Liverpool do) and I'm so glad I didn't loose it. I would have thrown myself in the icy Thames had I got to the end of the night and realised it was gone.
We got a taxi back to Ricky’s where me and Kat were staying and like all perfect nights, it ended with a cup of tea. Half way through the night I woke up and for a minute I thought I was on my way out again and I felt elated, then I realised where I was and what I was about to do. I was about to embark upon the Journey Back to Paris.