That evening we went to Stay Beautiful at the Purple Turtle in Camden and met
We got up late on Saturday and cooked ourselves a full English. This is has become a ritual, and a mighty tasty one it is. We were responsible and did some important shopping, and then we were irresponsible and went to the Oxford Arms on Camden High Street to watch the Barcelona vs. Real Madrid game and eat bangers and mash. We were dressed for our subsequent club venture and so attracted a lot of attention, including that of some lovely Brazilian people who were also Barca fans. There was a lady behind us perving on Henrik Larsson, so I felt right at home. (Mmm. Bald.) Barcelona won 3-0. We went off to Strength Through Joy with much noisy glee. The three pints we consumed during the game might have had something to do with that.
Strength Through Joy billed itself as an old-school industrial club, and boy did it deliver. I think I'm glad it's only once a month, otherwise we might end up getting to know some of the scenesters. I prefer to be anonymous. You can get more dancing in that way. Additionally, it means you can giggle at people's dancing without offending anyone. And I have to say, I was not impressed by a single person's dancing at this club. It's not good when I feel cocky enough to go all out and do whatever I want on the dance floor the first night I'm attending a particular club. I would rank myself as a slightly above average dancer for the following reasons:
1) I have a sense of rhythm.
2) I can lift my feet AND turn them. Ooh!
3) I can move my elbows above chest height.
4) I can be bothered to move my hips to do more than grind on my friends for the benefit of other clubgoers.
I am not the best industrial dancer I have ever seen.
In spite of the lack of dancing eye candy (although some of it looked pretty while standing still), the venue was intimate - the perfect size for the some sixty-odd people in attendance - and the music was very pleasing to a grumpy old-schooler's ears. Einstuerzende Neubauten, KMFDM, Puppy, FLA, 242, YAY.
On Sunday, we got up late and went to La Fromagerie off of Baker Street and had some nostril-hair-scorching soft cheeses and bread. The service was, as we were told by the French girls ahead of us in line, "typically English." I guess this means that any time you want something extravagant, like say, a menu, or possibly to place your order, you have to attract the attention of your waiter through some fairly dramatic waving action. Afterwards, I bought a bottle of delicious mead for only six quid. We drank the whole thing that evening and played X-Men Legends until way past bedtime.
In summary, we got pissed on Friday and went dancing, got pissed on Saturday and went dancing and got pissed on Sunday and played video games. It doesn't get much better than that.