disco#1

disco dancing in the boston music rooms

disco dancing in the boston music rooms

Our first disco looked like this from the DJ booth. Of which more later. On Saturday 13 June, in fact.

disco stage dancing

disco stage dancing

I’m still struggling to locate words that reasonably describe how it felt. After months of thinking about it instead of sleeping and field tripping like a student in freshers’ week, more than 300 people joined us for the first dirtyconverse DISCO. It was quite beautiful. And full of smiles. And not a poser in sight!

disco smiles

disco smiles

One of the more glorious moments was seeing people dance to Sara Brightman’s ‘I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper’, which I feel compelled to link to here:

Guaranteed to make you dance with your eyes shut.

eyes shut behind disco hair

eyes shut behind disco hair

more Brightman inspired dance moves

more Brightman inspired dance moves

So the toilets were a little minging and the bar unexpectedly busy, but we will be prepared next time. The music and the cheap beer will take us there.

Til next time. May the Brightman be with you.

Brightman vision

Brightman vision

Disco Eve

Something very odd happened this evening. Less than 24 hours before what could be the most terrifying-yet-exciting night of my life, I narrowly avoided a rocket.

After four months of planning, chatting, booking bars, buying CDs, talking to girls I don’t know, learning to DJ, visiting more nightclubs than any health professional would deem wise, pestering friends, drinking beer, then gin, pestering strangers, riding midweek nightbuses, braving Soho, swearing never to go back to Ghetto (three times I never learn) and generally attempting to infect anyone who will listen with my enthusiasm, it is now the night before the dirtyconverse DISCO.

I’m alternately giddy with excitement and supressing small panic attacks. I’ve developed a love of Hercules and Love Affair, and Tiga, gone off the one Elastica song I thought was sort of alright and become fixated with Pepsi and Shirlie and everything they represent musically.

My mouth is dry, my hair is undercut and I can’t seem to say anything without referencing song lyrics. I have to make sure my hands do not shake between the hours of 11.00hrs and 01.30hrs tomorrow night.

Tomorrow some of my best non-London-based friends are coming to London, and those who are here already are heading to N19 for the Disco.

And tonight I was walking up my road towards my favourite local pub for one sedate beer (21.20hrs) when a fucking rocket flew past me. Clearly, some little oik must have been indulging in the age-old right of passage into feral youth by letting off a screaming rocket outside the firework display environment.

He was either a rotten shot – it passed by my chest, so four feet above ground level – or a bloody good aim – SO close I felt the thrust. Whichever, it missed.

Somehow I stopped walking (no mean feet at 4mph marching pace) and did an involuntary Matrix-style backwards leaning body curve. And watched in slow motion as a firey missile wobbled through the air at speed, across the road, past me and into the hedge.

It either hit or scared a cat, judging by the noise that came from the bush. Whichever, it missed me.

And that is the point, I think. I am lucky: Luckier than I often make the time to realise.

After a few stationary minutes I continued walking to the pub. For one pint of Staropramen.