Ran this town: A late summer night's trek

Is it just me or is every single basement on Kingsland High Street some kind of bar or club of questionable legitimacy? During the day, it could almost pass for any East London high road, but come weekend nights, the streets are thronged with the beautiful and the well-dressed, lining up to squeeze into bars that range from industrial chic to sleaze-and-shab, playing host to some of the capital's best nights. Yet somehow on Saturday we ended up in the one empty club in Dalston (Barden's) and spent hours trailing all over East London with plastic cups full of overpriced, low grade red wine.

It all started off so well, I cooked not entirely rubbery calamari, we quaffed a few bottles of serviceable liquids, and we headed out for the bright lights of Dalston. After deciding against a dimly lit doorway with a six foot man dressed in a Lady Gaga-esque sequined body standing inside, and an aversion to paying entry to Dalston Superstore, we hit up the mean streets of Bethnal Green, before returning once more to the land of Kings (I take the shame for the unimaginative play on words). After a brief aforementioned daliance at Barden's we somehow ended up imbibing dubious drink back on the bus to Shoreditch, where, finally, my aesthetically gifted friend managed to charm our way into a random guestlist-only party in a gallery space. It all gets a bit blurry after the five (yes, five) storey climb to a large, empty, white space, devoid of art, or life intelligent enough to see that there's more to a night out than trying to like you're not having fun.

I think we attempted to ballroom dance.

Carnival Time

Okay, so the Carnival was on Monday... but punctuality is overrated as a virtue. It's always fun to have an excuse to drink before midday, but the Carnival is definitely not just a binge-drinking experience. Walking around, you turn a corner and there's something different... Sound systems, food stalls, and of course the amazing parade, with floats, feathers, music and, erm, nudity. I know that everyone worries about violent crime at Notting Hill, but it really does have this amazing buzz, everyone wants to enjoy themselves, there's happiness and love in the air... Well, there's something in the air anyway. It seems Monday was the last day of summer, but the benevolent Gods blessed the debauchery with blazing sunshine to keep the party alive. Personal highlight: dancing to drum and bass whilst a dandy with an umbrella walked a tightrope, much to the amusement of local kids watching it all from a fourth-floor balcony. It comes but once a year, people...

Rant Time

Though I stated previously that I miss Grenoble - and I do - I wouldn't go so far as to say that I "pine" for university life in France. French life has it's pros and cons, like life anywhere, but I personally prefer the party attitude we have here in Britain (social conditioning, the youth of today, etc etc shoot me), even if it would be improved by collating it with French wine (at french prices). I wrote an article for my student newspaper about the comparisons between student lifestyles en France and over here, and on student's attitudes. I tried to make it balance, but the general thrust was despite some advantages across the channel, I'm a big fan of student life en Grande-Bretagne. However... when it came to print, the question mark in my title (La Vie en Rosé? - note the [removed] alcohol reference) was gone, and the subtitle suggested I pined for a french style attitude in the UK. Those who know me will know this isn't true, but the editing (of my admittedly overlong piece) basically made me seem like I was categorising us British as drunken and sexually immoral and the French as superior (which I'm sure is how they see us)... This was NOT my intent at all, I was trying to dispell the image of life in France as an ideal. Ah well. I guess we're all misrepresented sometimes, and it would seem petty to bring it up. So I'll just put it on the internet for anyone to read...