Raver tots: Beats, bass and breast feeding mums in the club

Fag ends, puddles of manky old ale and a mum breast feeding her little baby. An incongruous combination you'd imagine but one thrown together by the concept of the 'baby rave'.

While clubs attract dancers of all ages, those with babies and young children may find it harder to get out of a Saturday night, bosh a load of garies and still remain capable of looking after their brood on a few minutes of teeth gnashingly brief shut eye. So step forward the kiddy rave concept. Obviously, they're not full of families all bog eyed and crazy but they do provide two hours of raving vibes, complete with actual DJs in an actual gnarly club. For anyone sans kids, they could well be seen as an appalling attack on the wide eyed evangelical hedonism of early acid house, equally as grotesque as the sober Morning Glory fitness dances. But for those with them who miss getting loose? It's almost like the real thing. If not pretty fucking weird.

The baby rave we went to took place at Hangar in London Fields on a Sunday afternoon with drum and bass legend Nicky Blackmarket on the ones, the twos and maybe even the threes. Going in at 2pm means rather than a salubrious fitness vibe, it feels more like you're taking your kid to a bizarre after, after hours party at a gritty club. You get searched going in, then park your buggy next to all the others at the door of the club amidst the puddles of detritus from the previous evening. Inside, it's £5 a warm Carlsberg and full of mums necking rum and cokes while their children run totally amok.

With the soundsystem cranked up to standard club levels, strobes set to stun and Blackmarket laying it down amidst some glitter cannons, it feels pretty similar to a student drum and bass night with the exception of the soft play area and the scally kids throwing themselves around just like their parents used to when they could get off their nuts. We lasted two hours before it all got too weird and we had to leave, clutching our hard fought Carlsbergs and went to the nearest playground to go and decompress. So in many, many ways, not too different from past lives at all...

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Sir Mick vs The Quince

While the winter of 2017/18 has been long and deep, alongside our domestic vibes and circle of chums, two key things have been leading us to the spring. One is the above image of Mick Jagger on his holibobs. The other is the full and frank Quincy Jones interview published back in February. If you look at these two things daily for the six cold months of the year, then it's possible that you'll never scowl or feel cold ever again. Try it.

Five Miles might well be our favourite place to drink pints

A shockingly controversial headline I'll think you'll agree as, if we're being totally honest, anywhere we drink pints is usually our favourite place. At least until we leave and begin drinking pints somewhere else. Whether that be the nearest bin or the bar, wherever pours some of those frothy mothers is usually somewhere we adore.

But Five Miles near Seven Sisters is certainly high up there in our list of beer swilling affections. Not only does it have a huge array of taps and craft but it has a mighty fine sound system, discerning taste in visiting selectors and a welcoming attitude to mid-30-something 'parents' with a penchant for pushing their luck and an addiction to beer. As such, I found some time to get the skinny with them for the latest issue of the Tottenham Community Press to find out more about how they came to land in Seven Sisters and what the vibe is behind the place.

Check out this latest issue and feature now and visit the Five Miles website for more info on them and their shenanigans...

Finding sunshine in the bleakest month

February is short, dark and quick full of dank mornings and ever danker nights. The best way to get through it is to draw the curtains on returning from work, crank up the heating and flick the v's at anything more demanding. Hence the radio silence on here - but never fear, once you're out then it's the homeward ride to spring - hello sunshine! Aside from eating eggs three times a week, here's what helped us thrive in Feb...

Take that establishment

The super moon

Dreamland in Margate looking dreamy

It got windy

Turkey Street

Hiya

Thursday mornings

'Mint' Burmese scran

Fashion

Hungover Mr Fox 

5 things we learned about grime godfather Wiley from reading Eskiboy

UK grime would be a much more boring place without Wiley. 

His musical releases might be erratic but his behaviour is entertainingly so, from leaking huge Zip Files of music to slagging off Glastonbury ('Fuck your farm') and uploading YouTube videos of him making his breakfast, there are fewer weirder personalities in grime. Or at least, if there are, they keep it under wraps for fear of losing fans. But not Wiley. He lets it all hang out in the best way possible. So if you read his new Eskiboy biog, then you'll be unsurprised to discover that this is all over the place too.

He compares himself to football clubs and martial arts experts within the same paragraph... 

'I was like Ajax. Ajax train players. It's nuts. They put time into people, they work them hard. And then they sell them. That's something that I have done. And no other musician has. But I was just helping people. I didn't expect anything from it. I don't take anything from them. I don't sell them. I'm like a Kung Fu master.'

Sting helped inspire him 

'Eskimo Dance used to be mad. It used to be properly underground. It all came from Sting you know.'

He spent a lot of money (according to his sister) 

'One day he called me from Manchester. I need you to pay our hotel bill. It's a lot. £48,000. He'd taken over a whole floor of the Hilton in Manchester for a week.'

He is an efficient multi-tasker (according to Scratchy)

'Recently we were out in Cyprus and even just driving down the road with him was hilarious. He was on his phone and he was eating, drinking some kind of slushy red daiquiri thing and bombing down the road with the boot of his car flying open. I was looking at him juggling this ridiculous ice drink in one hand with chips in his mouth and he just looked at me like, 'What?'

He's into roast dinners

'Yorkshire pudding, my god.'

Someone needs to give this man his own TV show...

Ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?

The latter quarter of 2017 had plenty of highlights including getting some Facebook likes from Lee Scratch Perry (see above), monkeying about on the grave of Jeremy Beadle and consuming some great culinary shit (see below). There was plenty of other slices of action in between but here are what we recorded via our phones innit...

Soulwax strike the Roundhouse

Soulwax's new live set up has three drummers. Three! It's a lot but were there even three? Were there four? Or ten? Who's counting other than the players themselves?

For many of us, Soulwax just sounded like one huge Robocop-esque synthetic machine, only intent on taking the very roof of London's Roundhouse off rather than doing any high-end maths.

We were lucky enough to clock them in the midst of December when they took over the venue for two nights. Their arrival was a relief as they cut through the festive chaos with their white suits and sleek electronics. But we, by contrast, were all over the place, lighting up snouts inside and hollering at every opportunity. We missed Jarvis Cocker's DJ set as were too busy getting pissed in the pub across the road, can just about remember the start of their set, went back to our buddy's with about 30 cans of czech lager, then woke up on the sofa fully clothed and in total disarray the next morning. It took a lot of beige food items, including Scotch eggs, Mcdonald cheeseburgers, chicken burgers, pork pies and even a quiche to feel anywhere near present or correct the following day. Brap to all crew involved. A strong showing indeed...