As a single London chick, the end of the week is always dedicated to romantic optimism. You convince yourself that this weekend, you will meet someone lovely and you will begin a beautiful journey, which will lead to expensive rings and happy honeymoons. Nightclubbing and the weekends are all about living a fairytale, from looking like a princess to attending a ball, finding your prince there and living happily ever after.
Needless to say, when you lie on your bed on Sunday morning; shaking, sweating and sipping bland tap water; you feel like an utter fool. No numbers were exchanged, no one interesting came up to you, or if they did, you cannot really tell, as it was far too loud in the bar and you were a bit too intoxicated to register their interest. Prince Charming was nowhere in sight, and neither was his second-cousin, or third-cousin, for that matter. Instead, you spent way too much money, your feet ache from wearing high stilettos, you feel like shit and the memory of all the ineligible bachelors squeezing your bum while passing you by angers you. So what was the point of it all?
Hey, at least you're going out and not staying in feeling sorry for yourself. Besides, it is fun to maintain the illusion that night clubbing is beneficial to your cause. Dressing up is fun, drinking makes you convinced you'll find that perfect someone, holding a cocktail makes you look rich and fun, dancing (even two-stepping in stilettos) burns off some of the calories acquired from drinking, and hanging out with your friends is always fun-tastic. Fun, fun, fun, right?
Last weekend, I ventured into two nightclubs in my quest of making my fairytale fantasy a reality. First up, on Friday night, was Chinawhite, and on Saturday, Jalouse. Despite their cool reputations, my intoxicated state and my alcohol-infused confidence, I did not enjoy the two places very much. The chart-topping music was hardly exciting, and the men in the club were very, very pushy and just looking to score a chick for the night. You would think that all the money you spend would be able to 'buy' you a good evening without sleazy men who ask you to join them for a 'hanky panky' and girls with fake - well, everything - but no. These places were seedy, and no fun.
So while the fairytale illusion of meeting the prince at a ball is overtaken by sleaziness and seediness, there is hope for us chickadees yet :-) The cocktail lounge Match Bar had a really good, friendly atmosphere, and the lounge DJ played really good, upbeat tunes. And, no, you did not have to shout when talking to your friends, so it was the perfect bar for catching up, too. And yes, there were cute guys around, but I did not really get to speak to many, as we had a private booth and a private party. No sight of the Prince Charming though, but his third-cousins were there. So maybe he'll turn up at the Match Bar sometime soon... I know I will!
So no, I did not meet Prince Charming yet. As the chances of meeting him in a night club seem relatively slim, I have given in and joined a dating website. So far, it has been alright, and there are far more eligible men there than there are in the two night clubs I visited. There is a certain old-school romantic feel about sending little messages to the guys you come across there, and then, perhaps, going out on a date with them. It is quite exciting. So maybe my Prince Charming is waiting for me online instead? I will keep you posted ;-)
Showing posts with label Nightlife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nightlife. Show all posts
Monday, 7 May 2012
Monday, 16 January 2012
Nightclubbing from posh to rock!
Friday night was the first one of the (hopefully) many nights I will spend out in the London nightlife. I met up with an old friend at the Green Park tube station. Our plan was to join a few other people at a members only Mayfair nightclub, but things didn't quite go according to plan.
After failing to find this elusive VIP club, we entered a place called Babble just off the Berkeley Square to wait for our friends to catch up with us. Already at 9.30pm, the two floor bar was packed with people and the music was blasting so loud that my poor (old-fart) ears were ringing. The guests were all dressed in a smart, eye-pleasing manner. Yes, there were a few tacky tank tops and some smudgy mascara on few girls' cheeks, but overall, people were well dressed.
And men... Yes, there were a few potential candidates ;-) I ended up talking to two handsome Russians, dressed in fancy suit jackets and smart clothes. They were nice and funny, and we got along nicely. Their English was surprisingly good and they seemed to be genuinely interested in chatting, not just hooking up and pulling a girl for a one night stand. Unfortunately we left without exchanging numbers, but I have to say. This encounter filled me with hope again. London is full of cute guys, so why did it take so long for me to realise that? :-)
Next up was a Nobu chain restaurant, which was just around the corner from Babble. As soon as we entered, I felt a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable to be there, for I felt I looked like a chav. My black MANGO polo shirt was OK, and the dangling white/gold earrings I had were cute, but as for the bottom half of my body... Woolly grey shorts, black tights on the verge of falling to pieces and golden brown boots that just didn't go with anything I was wearing. I felt really out of place and hid behind the glamorous booth hoping that no one would notice my awful choice of clothing.
As a place, Nobu was very enjoyable. The ambient, modern mood of the place was very appealing, and not too over-the-top either. Between the four of us, we shared a bottle of dry white wine (which cost about £40, so not too bad), and I have to say, it felt pretty fantastic to have our own waiter who kept refilling our glasses and served us so considerately. It was a lovely place to hang out with girlfriends and I'd like to go back soon. However, in clothing I feel comfortable with ;-)
After we finished our wine, we decided to change places again. After a quick stop at McDonald's (from a high end sushi restaurant to the infamous fast food chain, what a change, hahaa!), we ventured into a little place called Troy, located close to the Tattenham Court Road tube station. Situated on one of the little alleys off the big road, Troy's entrance was barely noticeable. Just a little sign saying "Troy 22" over a doorway, no opening times, no bouncer, no nothing. We cracked a few jokes about it, and judged the place before really giving it a chance. With Troy, the statement "never judge a book by its cover" turned out to be true, though.
We entered and found a cosy, dark little room with a small bar, a fireplace and about 5 tables. The bar was empty, but after ordering our drinks (which were quite reasonably priced, too), the place had started to fill up. By the time we had sat down and had a sip of our drinks, the place was almost full. 1950's rockabilly rock filled the room and people were dancing straight away. With classic rock tunes from Chuck Berry, Roy Orbison and Elvis Presley, everyone seemed genuinely happy and uninhibited. The atmosphere was very welcoming and warm, and lacked the pretense you get in the high end nightclubs. People were just who they were, there was no faking about it. It seemed to be the kind of place where you go and have fun with your friends, no matter what you wear, who you are or what you do for living.
Unfortunately my evening was cut quite short as I had to catch a train back here at 11.45pm. I would have loved to have stayed, but unfortunately, I had no other alternative. I have to say that Friday night was a lovely beginning for my London nightlife experiences. I cannot wait to go back and have new experiences. Weekend, come quickly again!
After failing to find this elusive VIP club, we entered a place called Babble just off the Berkeley Square to wait for our friends to catch up with us. Already at 9.30pm, the two floor bar was packed with people and the music was blasting so loud that my poor (old-fart) ears were ringing. The guests were all dressed in a smart, eye-pleasing manner. Yes, there were a few tacky tank tops and some smudgy mascara on few girls' cheeks, but overall, people were well dressed.
And men... Yes, there were a few potential candidates ;-) I ended up talking to two handsome Russians, dressed in fancy suit jackets and smart clothes. They were nice and funny, and we got along nicely. Their English was surprisingly good and they seemed to be genuinely interested in chatting, not just hooking up and pulling a girl for a one night stand. Unfortunately we left without exchanging numbers, but I have to say. This encounter filled me with hope again. London is full of cute guys, so why did it take so long for me to realise that? :-)
Next up was a Nobu chain restaurant, which was just around the corner from Babble. As soon as we entered, I felt a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable to be there, for I felt I looked like a chav. My black MANGO polo shirt was OK, and the dangling white/gold earrings I had were cute, but as for the bottom half of my body... Woolly grey shorts, black tights on the verge of falling to pieces and golden brown boots that just didn't go with anything I was wearing. I felt really out of place and hid behind the glamorous booth hoping that no one would notice my awful choice of clothing.
As a place, Nobu was very enjoyable. The ambient, modern mood of the place was very appealing, and not too over-the-top either. Between the four of us, we shared a bottle of dry white wine (which cost about £40, so not too bad), and I have to say, it felt pretty fantastic to have our own waiter who kept refilling our glasses and served us so considerately. It was a lovely place to hang out with girlfriends and I'd like to go back soon. However, in clothing I feel comfortable with ;-)
After we finished our wine, we decided to change places again. After a quick stop at McDonald's (from a high end sushi restaurant to the infamous fast food chain, what a change, hahaa!), we ventured into a little place called Troy, located close to the Tattenham Court Road tube station. Situated on one of the little alleys off the big road, Troy's entrance was barely noticeable. Just a little sign saying "Troy 22" over a doorway, no opening times, no bouncer, no nothing. We cracked a few jokes about it, and judged the place before really giving it a chance. With Troy, the statement "never judge a book by its cover" turned out to be true, though.
We entered and found a cosy, dark little room with a small bar, a fireplace and about 5 tables. The bar was empty, but after ordering our drinks (which were quite reasonably priced, too), the place had started to fill up. By the time we had sat down and had a sip of our drinks, the place was almost full. 1950's rockabilly rock filled the room and people were dancing straight away. With classic rock tunes from Chuck Berry, Roy Orbison and Elvis Presley, everyone seemed genuinely happy and uninhibited. The atmosphere was very welcoming and warm, and lacked the pretense you get in the high end nightclubs. People were just who they were, there was no faking about it. It seemed to be the kind of place where you go and have fun with your friends, no matter what you wear, who you are or what you do for living.
Unfortunately my evening was cut quite short as I had to catch a train back here at 11.45pm. I would have loved to have stayed, but unfortunately, I had no other alternative. I have to say that Friday night was a lovely beginning for my London nightlife experiences. I cannot wait to go back and have new experiences. Weekend, come quickly again!
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