Stagger Olly

To celebrate Olly's imminent nuptials we arrange a capital shindig so 7 are invited but Jon moves to California instead so now we're 6. We all variously arrive at host Simon's of course Olly fashionably last. After eating the most expensive takeaway pizzas ever we extravagantly taxi scenically to Koko (ex Camden Palace) where after quick shorts in the pub with no ice we enter Koko where we'll not see another soul even half our age until we exit in the early hours. Teeth are the main attraction for us with heavy drum beats shouty vocals and the Wilko Johnson of the new generation (he plays his laptop on top of his head). File Teeth (painful) next to Crystal Castles as Ramsay tells us and he's not wrong. Great start to the weekend and then next up are Finnish LCMDF which stands for Le Corps Medical something or other - but they really shouldn't've put MDF in their name. Anyways they are fronted by 2 charismatic women who get the crowd going by playing up beat dancy tunes at times reminding me of the fabulous Go! Team so I was impressed. Most of the time was spent dancing reservedly and hanging around on the terrace taking in the sights of late night Camden folk in the balmy night air. Eventually we decide to head back home without incident except for the driver driving off smiling without giving us our £7 change. Stay up reminiscing about the night and others long past until need sleep.

Saturday and we're all up at a reasonable time and after a mammoth breakfast cooked by Simon we say farewell to Al who's off back to Kent. So there were 5. We head out catching the 2 halves of the Everton derby in 2 pubs and then hire our London Bikes. After doing the tourist bit around Big Ben and seeing Napoleon's nose at Admiralty Arch we cycle past the royal spongers and spend the afternoon chilling out in Hyde Park in the roasting sun and just watch the world go by. Late afternoon we tube back south (bike release not working) and have a very reasonably priced meal washed down with Cava at the White Horse where a rather ironic event happens to Ramsay later. After much angsting about where to go tonight we plum for Hootenanny. Bruce is flagging so then there were 4. After facing off narky rugby types in the queue we struggle through the mass of humanity outside and catch the last few songs of Boot Lagoon of who are sort of 70s hippy tripped out jazz funk well appreciated by Jim and Ramsay. Especially the 4 seconds of each song where they entice you in according to Olly, whilst his verdict on the other 5 minutes of each song is that they're a bunch of pretentious expletives and the worse band he's ever seen, ever. After a trip outside and back in we see the start of Syd Arthur who are a some folk rock noodly throwback to the worse recesses of the Old Grey Whistle Test. Olly has s new worst ever band. We all decide to try the shouty punk rock at the Windmill so make our way there only to find a deserted dance floor with the bands long gone. Dejected we buy drinks and go out to the outside shack room where we cheer up by chatting to a lovely Malaysian couple and then 3 Irish lads. After sharing tequila rounds we get kicked out as it's closing and all decide to go down to the White Horse again for the disco - which was mainly fairly predictable music but just what Doctor Simon ordered. Ramsay's flagging now and leaves so now there are 3. After outlasting the disco us 3 wander up Brixton Hill with our new friends but then somehow lose Simon. Then there were 2 (me and Olly - are you keeping up with this? or even bothered to read this far?) - until we find Ramsay wandering around lost so 3 again. We make it back to the house where we chat and listen to sounds til the early hours - outside in shirt sleeves in October. Amazing. Ramsay then Simon turn in and Olly and myself remain before retiring after sharing a cheese sandwich. Sunday Bruce has to shoot early and after another big breakfast we all depart. I hope the weekend satisfied the stag (if so will he please be the first person to Comment on this blog!) - no strippers I'm afraid (not so popular with the folk rock set) or nude handcuffing to lampposts (dangerous so close to the Mass Club) but sunshine, exercise, good company and a few shared drinks. And the worst band of pretentious hippies ever seen by Olly and the best venue in London as seen by him (the Windmill, honest). Now looking forward to the ceremony itself in a month's time...