Tuesday, 3 November 2009

My favourite bit of London isn't a place, it's 7am on a Sunday morning.

After a night of tequila with salt and no lemon, jagerbombs and some really dirty electro, we took a break from the dancefloor and headed outside. We'd gone into the club 6 hours ago, and now the fog had cleared and the flashing light on top of Canary Wharf's Citibank was visible again. We sat down on the floor, resting against the fence that surrounds the smokers' area, and talked. Or, more accurately, shouted. If there's one thing that keeps me coming back to that club, keeps me making the hike over to North Greenwich, it's the underfloor bass that tingles your nose and vibrates your chest, leaving your ears with a buzzing, low tinitus hum for the rest of the day.

When we go back inside, the crowd has dwindled and we decide to make a move. This is my favourite part of London. The sun hasn't risen yet and you can almost forget it's 6:30am. Then you leave a club and head to the tube station and there on the path are two people paid to stand outside, supplying us with free tea and coffee. Clutching steaming polystyrene cups, we head to North Greenwich tube with the intention of getting to Waterloo bridge in time for sunrise.

We wait a while then catch a bus which is full of pirates, vampires, witches and knackered, blood splattered faces. It's just a normal day.

He soon falls asleep but I'm awake, preoccupied with the London skyline. Nudge. "We're going to miss it!", the sky is tinged with pink and I can see it between buildings from the top of the bus, but that's all we're getting. He goes back to sleep and I rest my head on his shoulder. Last night seems ages ago, when we walked hand in hand into a pub where my uni friends were meeting, and I made a speedy, unexpected introduction to the Ex.

The early morning giggles get me 20 minutes later. I'm overtired and buzzing and laughing uncontrollably at nothing at all. It's 8am. Daylight is in full swing and the tube we get is occupied by people heading to or from work. For a while, I am quite taken with the sheer amount of stops on the Bakerloo line. Look! 25 stops! 25! Why so many? We lie down across the seats and I'm half sleeping, half laughing. 25 stops. Well we're not bloody doing that.

Eventually, Saturday comes to an end. We arrive home at 9am, still yelling over the ringing in our ears.

I draw the curtains and it's dark again. Bedtime.

8 comments:

roseski said...

Your post is why I should have gone home at 6am instead of crashing at a friend's to make the journey home at 11am like a dirty stop-out.

I love London sunrise/sunsets...

And I need to get to Matter sometime soon!

Grump said...

Sounds like a great night. I hope you get to enjoy a Melbourne sunrise, while you are in Australia.
Mark x

Robbie said...

Only in England can you end a 6-hour night of clubbing with a cup of tea. Nice :-)

Blue soup said...

I never did the all-night clubbing thing in London. I kind of wish I had when you post things like this. It sounds like great fun.

And the trip home together sounds romantic too.

Please Don't Eat With Your Mouth Open said...

roseski - Ahh, the walk of shame. That's why I always pack flats for the next morning. You never know where you'll end up.

Grump - So do I. I'm looking forward to it!

Robbie - Exactly, there's something terribly english about it all. How very civilised at an uncivilised hour.

Bluesoup - It's my favourite thing to do, if I had a choice for a night out I'd go clubbing all night and have a huge mission to get home the next morning. Even better if you're sharing the journey. A cab is never as fun.

Frankly, Scarlett said...

What a FANSASTIC end to the night!! You're making me miss London!

Homer said...

Damn girl, you make me feel old.

Ellie said...

Great night!

 

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