Oh No He Never!

Back on the raving tip this last weekend after a three-week hiatus (do we use that word in the UK?). That's long for me, give me a break, obviously due to not feeling well. Anyway, I have to rave being that I bought a stupid amount of shoes during the sales and I don't have a man with a foot fetish around to wear them at home for. TMI? Muy bad.

We had a duty rave to attend - long time DJ Chris Sweeney's birthday bash. Sweeney has played on 'The Circuit' for years and co-founded one of the longest running events on the black music scene, the RJS Holiday - which is basically a club 18-30 for black people. White people do go, but there are very few white people that are interested in spending a whole week listening and raving to r 'n' b (the proper stuff), dancehall (not just Sean Paul), and slow jams (there will be no 'I'm loving Angels instead' on this trip). Let alone rare groove (dusty old soul tunes). Am I wrong?

Interestingly, Sweeney is white. But close your eyes and you damn sure wouldn't know it because the man speaks Jam-English patois as a result of hanging with black people all his life. This was before it became trendy, and was adopted by the middle-classes. No doubt he would have been called a 'nigger lover' for hanging with black people, and probably copped a beating or two fighting skinheads when he was with his black friends.

The dance was in north-west London, Wembley, at this place Silver Spoon, which is right behind the new improved, yet to be finished Wembley Stadium. As dances go it was not the most exciting of evenings, and the half bottle of vodka we consumed before we went out caught up with me quite quickly, but not enough to prevent the ache in my gotdamn feet.

When I tried to go out to the car, the doorman said I couldn't, there was no readmission. But wait. 'But my feet are hurting me'? 'Why did you wear those shoes then?'. OH NO HE NEVER! 'For your information, and not that it's any of your business, they are NEW shoes? Therefore I would not know whether they would be comfortable or not until I bloody well wear dem'. The 3.5 inch stack heel was a bit of a giveaway.

Obviously I was talking to an ignoramus. How dare he question the reasoning for wearing the brown patent leather, studded peep-toe platforms from TopShop. Face-ty. *Kiss teet*.

As I walked back in the club I bumped into Sweeney, and like a tell-tale tip I whined to him about how the doormen wouldn't let me out to the car to change my shoes. So he took me up to the door, and told them to let me come back in. Suckerrrrs. Oh how I laughed inside. I know what they were thinking - jumped up light-skin bitch. HAHAHA. I went and changed into my Havaianas, and enjoyed the rave for another two hours.

As I came back in, at my real titchy height, I came chest-first with a big black hunk I had spied while sitting at the bar earlier. I gave him the eye contact and flashed him the pearly whites. He bought me a drink, and we chatted as much as you can in a noisy rave, and he seemed cool. He couldn't believe my age, but I believed his, just twenty-six. So I have a decade on him. So when I was Sixteen, he was six. Hmmm. I very indiscreetly took his number, and promised to call.

Maybe I will.

I am Effie White...

It's been an arduous couple of weeks. I fell ill when I didn't want to. There are points in your life when you think, I wouldn't mind a couple of days off, but this wasn't one of them. I had a welcoming drinks at the pub with my new team to welcome me at Showbiz Journalist at The Big Time Newspaper, yes I have a contract now, which means less Kunte Kinte hours, and less money. Oh well. I really didn't feel like going, which should have been a clue that I wasn't feeling well. Me, turn down a free drink?!? (you done know I wasn't paying to welcome myself), but anyway, after a 9-hour shift I dragged myself along, managed to keep consumption down to three 'small' glasses of wine, and escaped early.

The next day I couldn't move.

I spent the whole weekend on the sofa, because you know when you're sick, you have to be visibly sick. No one ever wants to spend the whole day in bed. You need to move to the sofa, and let everybody (well just Clarke) see how crap you feel.

I spoke to Suzy Wong - she was so worried about me, she came over, and did my food shopping so my 'pickney' (child) could have something to eat. That's what you call friend. So I spent the weekend watching my pirate copy of Dreamgirls (don't hate I went to the cinema first) and feeling immensely sorry for myself, as only I can. And loving it. I really just ended up enjoying the whole oh woe is me of it all. I stayed in my pyjamas, got in emergency supplies of M&Ms and Haagen Daz Cookies and Cream ice-cream and kept rewinding Jennifer Hudson singing "And I am teeellling you...I'm not going...". Dope.

I dunno if she deserved the Oscar because I didn't see many of the other contenders, but she sure tore that song the hell up. Beyonce - sit down. You know she felt GUTTED that she didn't get an Oscar, or even a nomination. When you're one of life's winners, its only natural. And if you're one of life's losers, well that's a feeling you're used to so no biggy. But as Usher sang Beyonce had to 'let it burn', cos I know that shit was hurting like a mofo. Oh well, at least she has the multimillionaire 'CEO of Hip-Hop' Jay Z to console her. "So Beyonce, what first attracted you to the multimillionaire rapper Jay Z?"

Anyways, by Monday I was feeling a-ok after a weekend of wallowing in the depths of self-pity and cold and flu viruses. Well, if I don't work I don't eat, and momma's got to get paid! Back to work it is.

Party of the Year

I have no business being a journalist when it takes me whole week to update my blog. I do apologise but I did actually write a fantastic post on how great the party was, a blow-by-blow account of who did what, when and where, and promptly shut the damn thing down without publishing it. Doh! After which I lost the will to live and had to just get as far away from a computer as possible.

But just to recap. The party was off the da heezy (I know young people are not saying that anymore). It reminded me of the parties of my youth, when the older generation (now me) and the young would get together and somehow manage to speak the same language. I think in general it's easier because black people are raised on music, so when families get together, music is always involved and the old people (us now) force the young uns' to get up and show them whatever new dance is going on. And that's exactly what happened last weekend. Suzy Wong and I got to learn the Chicken Noodle Soup dance, which is better than it sounds, and we led the young uns in the Electric Slide to Candy's Cameo (with my daughter shaming me up by misstepping).

People know how much I love to Electric Slide, I even taught it to some women on my friends Hen Night in Spain a few years back. All the people in the club stopped dancing to watch. One woman was soooo happy because she said she had NEVER been able to learn any dance step and had no rhythm. She was black too. Okay I'm lying.

But the party was really good fun. We had the best dance competition 'Dance Idol' which was won by Suzy Wong's niece who we shall call Lil Wong because she stay bad just like her aunty. Wong used to have a hot dance group back in the hip-hop days, taking on allcomers boys and girls, and they took no prisoners.

Considering I was being the meanest mum ever and hadn't wanted to have the party, you would never have guessed from the way I was dancing up myself to every tune the DJ played. Wong and I had to work to get the youts on their feet. Then they harassed my dj friend Peter Platinum Phillips (Bassline FM) to play the tunes they wanted, and if he didn't have them, they 'bluetoothed' the songs off their phones straight to his infrared enabled laptop. Deep. Clarke was cussing our Macbook a few months back because it doesn't have infrared. The damn thing costs twice as much as a bogstandard PC laptop and does half the job.

We fed them MFC (mum's fried chicken), cocktail size jamaican patties, hardough bread and coleslaw. Plus the usual fizzy drinks and sweets. I don't believe in all this organic food nonsense at kids parties. Give them what they want, get them high on the e-numbers and by 10 o' clock they crash and burn into the deepest sleep ever. Result.

My daughter looked amazing (of course I'm biased). Sweet thirteen, all long-limbed and shiny-faced. She resisted my attempts to put a little make-up on her (NO MUM! - not even lipgloss!). Those baby years went so quickly, and now I have this demanding teen (Advice: always have more than one child) who talks too much in class, and could do better according to her teachers (and she bloody well will according to me). But as I wrote in her card - she is everything I ever imagined having in a daughter. And I feel privileged to have her in my life.

Happy birthday Clarkie x