Going back
There are a couple of clubs I used to go to - back in what I understand is officially known as 'the day' - that I resolved on January 1 2004 that I would never, ever go to again. One of them is called the 414 and it is located on Coldharbour Lane in Brixton.
I unexpectedly ran into the 414 at the weekend, and I feel I would publicly apologise to the venue for any bad feeling between us.
414, you were my training camp. I cut my teeth on your Breezer-soaked carpet tiles. I learned how to pee and hold the toilet door shut with my foot whilst balancing my bag on my lap to avoid minor flooding in your very own ladies convenience. I have stared at my mascara-streaked mug in your misty mirror a thousand times. You helped me to master a spiral staircase in the dark at an unsteady run - a skill that will stay with me forever. My people skills are second to none thanks to late-night chats with your surreal clientele. Where else, if not within your hallowed and dripping walls, would I have learned there was such thing as scented toilet paper, how good a pot noodle can taste at 1.30am on a Monday morning, or just how much one can need a cup of tea at 3.30am on a Saturday night?
My god, I used to turn up like clockwork every Saturday night without even knowing what event was on, and even when it was gabba, we'd just sit it out upstairs with our hands over our ears, smiling at the mutant tropical fish and chatting. I don't think any other could make me feel like you did on bank holidays. When I was suddenly alone in central London one autumn night, I spent my last few quid on a cab to Brixton, knowing I'd be let in for free and kept safe until the trains started running.
So where did it all go wrong? People grow, they change. I changed. 414, I thought I was better than you. And the reason I said what I said that new year's day is that I had found a new club, called Fire, that offered me a so many things I'd never experienced before. The sound system blew me away, the people were fabulous - even the freaks were more like carnival acts than the snaggle-toothed monsters in dirty day-glo that I had grown used to. I made some incredible new friends, and I discovered something that I felt had been missing between us for some time. I didn't want to run into tie-dyed hippies who smelled of old carpets anymore. I didn't want to be flicked with sweat by a headband-and-shorts-wearing university lecturer from Guilford. I needed something else.
Fire was a revelation to me, and after a long discussion, Annabel and I made a resolution to officially never go back to 414 again. It's not that I thought you didn't have anything to offer, just not to me. Not anymore.
Once the decision had been made, I had no trouble sticking to it. If anyone asked me to come along, I just told them I didn't go to 414 anymore, and never would again. It felt good. Although I would speak glowingly of our formative years, I never missed you.
414, when I found myself standing on your ever-so-slightly refurbished dancefloor on Sunday, I didn't realise what a good time I was going to have that day. I had forgotten the whole point of the 414, I forgot how good we were together. I know it was messy between us towards the end, and I still love Fire. But I want to say sorry for dismissing you like that. You and I go back a long, long way. I hope every now and then, we can still hook up, and work some of that old Coldharbour Lane magic.
I unexpectedly ran into the 414 at the weekend, and I feel I would publicly apologise to the venue for any bad feeling between us.
414, you were my training camp. I cut my teeth on your Breezer-soaked carpet tiles. I learned how to pee and hold the toilet door shut with my foot whilst balancing my bag on my lap to avoid minor flooding in your very own ladies convenience. I have stared at my mascara-streaked mug in your misty mirror a thousand times. You helped me to master a spiral staircase in the dark at an unsteady run - a skill that will stay with me forever. My people skills are second to none thanks to late-night chats with your surreal clientele. Where else, if not within your hallowed and dripping walls, would I have learned there was such thing as scented toilet paper, how good a pot noodle can taste at 1.30am on a Monday morning, or just how much one can need a cup of tea at 3.30am on a Saturday night?
My god, I used to turn up like clockwork every Saturday night without even knowing what event was on, and even when it was gabba, we'd just sit it out upstairs with our hands over our ears, smiling at the mutant tropical fish and chatting. I don't think any other could make me feel like you did on bank holidays. When I was suddenly alone in central London one autumn night, I spent my last few quid on a cab to Brixton, knowing I'd be let in for free and kept safe until the trains started running.
So where did it all go wrong? People grow, they change. I changed. 414, I thought I was better than you. And the reason I said what I said that new year's day is that I had found a new club, called Fire, that offered me a so many things I'd never experienced before. The sound system blew me away, the people were fabulous - even the freaks were more like carnival acts than the snaggle-toothed monsters in dirty day-glo that I had grown used to. I made some incredible new friends, and I discovered something that I felt had been missing between us for some time. I didn't want to run into tie-dyed hippies who smelled of old carpets anymore. I didn't want to be flicked with sweat by a headband-and-shorts-wearing university lecturer from Guilford. I needed something else.
Fire was a revelation to me, and after a long discussion, Annabel and I made a resolution to officially never go back to 414 again. It's not that I thought you didn't have anything to offer, just not to me. Not anymore.
Once the decision had been made, I had no trouble sticking to it. If anyone asked me to come along, I just told them I didn't go to 414 anymore, and never would again. It felt good. Although I would speak glowingly of our formative years, I never missed you.
414, when I found myself standing on your ever-so-slightly refurbished dancefloor on Sunday, I didn't realise what a good time I was going to have that day. I had forgotten the whole point of the 414, I forgot how good we were together. I know it was messy between us towards the end, and I still love Fire. But I want to say sorry for dismissing you like that. You and I go back a long, long way. I hope every now and then, we can still hook up, and work some of that old Coldharbour Lane magic.
posted by Elizabeth at 6:47 PM
2 Comments:
ROFLMAO.
Ahhhh...414...mmmmm... Friends of mine used to lived literally next door. I remember one particularly exciting party when 2 crack dealers got in and ran round brandishing hammers. Good old Brixton, eh?
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