London partied this weekend, and probably all of England. It’s been two years since we could go out. Actually it’s been 18 months but it feels longer. Covid isn’t over by any means. The mundane astrologer André Barbault predicted a pandemic would start in 2020 and last until 2024. Most pandemics last four years. Will that be the case for Covid?
Nevertheless England has decided to go for it – to live- whatever the consequences.
So we all went out. Even me. My sister got me a ticket to a party called What the Blue Blazes? It took place in a warehouse in Tottenham Hale “where all the parties are now” I was told. In fact there were so many parties that we tried three places(one with youngsters, an African wedding, a sound studio) before we got the right one. This little industrial estate was heaving with partygoers.
I’m terrible at going out. I forced myself to go, even though I’d had my third Covid vaccination earlier that day and was feeling delicate. The only way I can enjoy myself is by taking drugs. I had a small pinch of mushrooms; they didn’t have much effect but made me smile all night.
At the entrance there was a halloween shrine to the dead: amid the pumpkins, the candles and the ‘Don’t steal our fucking props’ sign, there were photos of the recently deceased, whether through Covid or other means I’m not sure.
It felt like this Halloween was England thumbing its nose at Death. We were asked to bring Rapid Flow Test results. I’m not sure how the door would know when they were taken. They weren’t scanned. Nobody wore masks, unless you are counting Halloween costumes. One guy came as Covid itself, a huge papièr maché head in green with the familiar spikes.
The music was enticingly silly, nobody took themselves too seriously. My sister is a brilliant dancer and totally loses herself. I like to dance but tend to shift about at the margins. You could feel the party rise to a peak of energy at 2am: everyone on the dance floor, pumping fists of joy into the air.
There were beautiful people: tall and slim without an ounce of body fat, wearing very little. They looked so comfortable with their bodies. Even they smiled from time to time.
Most of us were having a bit of a laugh. People dressed up. Here are the pictures. I’ve been taking pictures of nightclubs and festivals since the 80s. It’s so hard to capture an atmosphere. Some of the best pictures can be taken in ladies’ loos.
Will we be partying next year?