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.