31 floors high and rising

BOOOOOOM

Ready ready ready. It's been too hot of late to sit inside tippy tapping away at the ol' digital joanna. The keys are sweating as this computer's coming down with the digital equivalent of swine flu. But hell's teeth we've been at the front line again...

T’other Friday the question was who don’t want to go 31 floors up to the top of a building to get on down to the disco boogie. The 15 quid ticket price and half an arm for a drinky winky was worth it purely for a life affirmingly large view.

Remember how alive you felt when the balls dropped for the first time? Or when you discovered that amyl nitrate was so reasonably priced and readily available? Reverse at top of the Centrepoint building in central London aped them raw, savage feelings in terms of both view and vibe.

The flex was Greg Wilson, electro funk roots dude with an re-dit attiTOOODE aided and abetted by London lumos Guy Williams, Serge Santiago and Dan Bloodbath Beaumont. The crowd was a wild mixture of suits, don’t knows, orange faces and cokey lokos who blocked the cubicles and waved their arms about like it wasn’t £8 for a G&T. I shit you not.

Predictably we wringed every last drop of hype out of the evening, necking the shots, necking the beers and a new academic design named MAMA. I don’t remember a thing about the sunrise. It was cloudy and my brains were addled but Greg Wilson did his reel-to-reel ting with suitable aplomb for a man whose been riding the disco zeitgeist before Primark cardigans and Dalston were nowt but a blink in Time Out’s eye. I don’t think going out will ever be the same again.



Get down



Vibe



Vibe Vibe



Vibe Vibe Vibe



Love is in the air



Ready?

Strength in the London Fields

Strong



Strong



Strong



Strong



Strong



Strong



Strong



Saturday evening was drunken and located in a tarty new boozer called the London Fields. It was rammed, trendy yet still on point. Two unlikely looking lads played a selection of hype shit. What no Hendersons?, Metro Area and this total hype Todd Terje re working of Stevie Wonder’s Supersition.

Me and my man Chinchilla Price discussed its merits over a glass of ice-cold rose. I asked for a pint of Old Rosie (a refreshing, cidery brew) but garcon couldn’t get his head round my vowels. Which is better than him attempting to get his noggin round my bowels. Hubba hubba? Check out the flex in the images. The camera was out for 2 minutes yet it somehow zoned in a number of strong looks I think you’ll agree. Check out the Terje rerub here...

Greenwich vibes

Bish



Bash



Bosh!

Getting up for once on a Saturday without weeping with pain meant a little afternoon trip was in order. Greenwich was the vibe. F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-resh.

Aspirations are high on the agenda in this place so we did our best to maintain. I ate some curried goat, we found a tasteful pouff for the feet, some manly cheese for the nose and Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours for the ears. Plus we saw time itself. Hype I hear you cry. Hype indeed.



Flicking the vs at work. Sad but needed.



Whereever I lay my hat, there's a Greggs



Time!



The crunch



Word!

Bonk Holiday vibes part deux

The day after and with a gut made of rot and eyes watering we took a trip back to Sheffield. Yep Knife and fork town, the seven hills, Bleepville. What evs you want to name it we returned to recapture a slice of the past and see what the future’s done to it.

After wheezing around Kings Cross attempting to find the choo choo, we boarded and spent the first half of the journey berating the other members of our carriage, who appeared to be experiencing similar ‘difficulties’ to ourselves. Stumbling, cursing, sweating, sitting on each other - it was like a crap panto without any of the songs or cross dressing all carrying on in a confined space. If they weren’t hungover, they must have been totally STOOOOOPPPPPID.

The first night of our little sojourn a la la Sheffeel was spent in the beery bosom of the soon-to-be Mr and Mrs Sleaze. They treated us right well, cooking us nosh and flooding our bellies with Becks. Top larks all round and, following a venture to the Shakespeare boozer and the obligatory shots, it ended in their front room warbling about how shit everything is. Right on. Other highlights? A gargantuan fry up, putting an entry in their ‘log book’ (and the bog), the fridge with an eerie growl. And we slept in the ‘royal suite’ (a lovely bedroom with a picture of Princess Di’s face stuck to the front).

Plus we heard some shit by Fol Chen offa the brilliantly named Asthmatic Kitty records. Check them here.

The day after and with the second installation of the hangover really beginning to bite we ended up following our fry up with a three course Sunday lunch. Meat, meat and more fucking meat. Black pudding, Yorkshire puds, stuffing, pork pies, crackling, bread and butter pudding. All the artery clogging was hammered home by a few pints and numerous cig breaks. I felt like Henry VIII must have done following a royal jelly blow out.

As the day got weary and was super-subbed by night, Sunday turned into a classic Steel City evening. The vibe reeled us into getting pissed at the Wig and Pen. Cue feeling young and like we’d gate crashed someone else’s party plus a soundtrack from Sheffield stalwarts and purveyors of all tings bleepy, Pipes and Duckenfield. It was capped off by an intense sing/dance off til about daylight’s little fingers began poking through the curtains. Props to the Pig, Marissa, Nicko, Mark Andy and Vicky. It was a real rumpus...

Big, bad and deeply, deeply camp

Still. Cannot. Get. Enough. Of. This

Bonk Holiday vibes part une

Yes yes - What’s been happening? As far as I’m aware shit has been going down. Strong looks, big parties, late nights and hot tunes. It’s been solidly bonkers and even when we ain’t been troughing on booze, I’ve been up late prancing round the gaff to Imagination and wishing I’d been born on the inside of that bassline.

Disco-shaped fun and games were squeezed into the Friday night of the recent Bank Holiday. We hopped on a bus and ended up at a soiree named the Last Days of Disco, going right off at the semi-ludicrously monikered Barden’s Boudoir. I don’t know who Barden is but if it is his lair then he should get them tinklers sorted out. And tell his guards to stop being so keen. I locked eyes with one of them while having a toot on the amyl and he damn well snatched it off me. The freaking square. He obviously don’t know.

Kitsune’s In Flagranti were the vest wearing hipstos blaring out the euphoric disco bangers and sinful re-edits. Dubby techy disco resplendent with cow bells and plenty of dance floor sweat. It was hype and evidence that Kitsune aren’t looking to the early 90s and the bottom of Jonny Slut’s wardrobe for inspiration. Weirdly they is going all the way back to the NYC but it sounds a bit like Sheffield 2001. Same vibe - Dancing on the stage, binging on the tequilas, pointing fingers at the lights and general losing of mind tactics being deployed. Naughty haughty.

Toddla T Essential-esential-essential

Just get on this - It might be obvious for the hype masters but you need it in yer ears like a butcher needs a new pig.

Check it here

Incidentally they just dropped Burial on BBC shitefest Holby City. As the young man might say what g'wan?

Bonkers Bonkers Bonkers Bonkers Bonkers

It is the best thing eva. Like since Mars by Fake Blood. See the video for that below. Props to Dizzee - this is number one with a silver bullet for sure...

Dizzee Rascal - Bonkers from David Kelly on Vimeo.