The Bobo Dread said 'I don't know how you do it' after I recounted the bank holiday weekend runnings. And sometimes neither do I. I think it's something to do with stress-relief from my J.O.B. When I work hard, I like to play hard too. Okay, there are a few weekends when I am just not feeling the fuck-me-pumps and freakum dress...I counted three last year! But in general, 50 hours a week at the plantation equals 8 hours downtime on the dancefloor on the weekend.
It's dating central in the world of B' Jones, nothing too serious, but a drink here, a movie there, and a link-up at a party there. It's all good, and a sign that summer really is around the corner as everybody gets their flirt on, and is keen to lock down a few summer bunnies.
Went to a salsa/r 'n' b night with one of the Wong Sisters, Michie. A bit of an unusual combination, but then it is run by an American. You can have a lesson at 8pm, and then try out your new-found skills for the rest of the evening. Or if like me you would rather just sit and laugh at folk who have got it horribly wrong, you can hold a corner and wait for the R 'n' B to start.
It was in a nice bar in the City (aka The Square Mile). These bars tend to hire out their venues to black promoters on the weekend, as long as your crowds not too 'gangsta'. But during the week the only blacks you'll see there are the 'tokens' admitted to the city enclaves.
I met up with a friend up there, and we hung out drinking vanilla vodka's, and mojitos. He introduced Michie to one of his friends who was desperate to get all up in the business. It was all good until Mich mentioned she was a mother-of-three...then that mofo couldn't run fast or far enough. I wouldn't mind, but for one he seriously wasn't all that, and secondly, as we left we saw him exchanging numbers with what looked like a human gargoyle (I keeps it real). Pickney or no pickney she could not walk in my bredrin's shoes. Done know.
We headed out of there around 2am to go meet Wong and G-Ling to go to a club called Twilights in Canning Town. All set for a long night out we got there around 4am. The place was 'brass' (means broke, you have no dough/or a place is empty - to us!). First of all, there was a flat screen showing the boxing, so the men that were there were transfixed by it, secondly, the rave was half-empty. That could have been something to do with the fact that someone did 'lick shot' (fire a gun) at the last dance there. We kinda forgot about that.
Over the last month, there have been two robberies at well-known south London clubs, Illusions, and Brockwells. As a result it seems that peeps are being scared off from raving. And who can blame them. These cowards went into clubs and robbed people at gunpoint. Funny, because I don't see them niggas trying it up in the white people's clubs. Is this what we have come to? Whatever, it ain't going to make me want to go to Chinawhite's and those other eediyat West End clubs where you have to be on the guestlist and show your breast, or your coochie in a tiny dress (no panties necessary) so that some feisty doorman will let you in. Them days are surely over.
We didn't feel like we really raved that night as they shut it early - at 6am. Yes that is early for Twilights, as it usually goes on until 10am. So eager to shake two foot, we went out Sunday night. I was mashed all day from the night before, but managed to cook a much-needed roast dinner, and after hours on the sofa, and a hair of the dog shot of peach schnapps went out the door again.
We passed by Brixton bar Zed - not my favourite place as it's full of local yokels, yardies and young gyal. But some friends wanted to meet in there. It's a complete pick-up joint. But most of the men are complete pussies and prefer to just play the staring game in the hope that they will crack the Mona Lisa-like expression on your face. No such luck.
It finished at the stupidly early time of 12am. Still not feeling sated, we went on to a drinks free all night dance at Virgo's - a place we usually scorn. And guess what, that was brass too.
Fuck it - I drank my money's worth of brandy, flung two foot and danced with a cute guy. We headed out at 5am when my feet had had all they could take. I'm considering having Botox injected in them, cos dem heels are surely putting a hurting on my feet.
How do I do it? Well I paid for it the next day. Tired as fuck I still had to complete my housework, 'look after' my child (thank god she's 13) and get myself sorted for work. By 8.15pm I was in my bed, reading the weekends newspapers for work. I think that will be my new bedtime all fucking week.
*Canin' it: hardcore raving, drug-taking, drinking, whatever - just doing it to the max.
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