A savvy (and at the time rather startled) gentleman once termed a group of my old school friends “a tsunami of ladies”. As it turns out, a scarily apt term for the scene of unprecedented mayhem that unfurled on Friday night in Soho.
You’d think Soho had seen a thing or two in its time. It hadn’t seen anything like this though, trust me. The tsunami hit, showed no mercy, took down its victims and then, as suddenly as it had arrived, retreated back into the night leaving nothing but shocked silence and grubby kebab wrappers in its wake.
Monday 18th May 2009
Firstly, I must stress, we are a distinctly mixed bag. The ladies are a very disparate group of outlaws but that, I think, is our strength and ultimately our genius. We come in all shapes, sizes, professions and specialities. We are tied together forever, bound by our shared school experience – horrific and hilarious in equal measure as it was. Once you’ve borne the humiliation of nazi-style cross-country running in big blue knickers, there really isn’t much that scares you. The public school system has a lot to answer for really. Certainly the rather world-weary policeman who became unwittingly embroiled in proceedings on Friday would agree with me.
It all started in a little restaurant on Old Compton St.
http://www.justsoho.co.uk/showABC.php?id=Amalfi&p=true
“And would you like some drinks ladies?”
Is Gordon Ramsay a foul-mouthed ego-maniac?
“2 bottles of red, 2 bottles of white, 6 sambucas please.”
The waiter’s face said it all really. I distinctly recall him sharing a look with another diner. I think he may have gone back into the kitchen and pressed his panic button.
The evening rolled on, the deadly wave was gathering its strength. Topics of discussion ranged from the delicious and various merits of deep-fried cheese (the ladies aren’t afraid of a bit of deep fried cheese), clandestine love-affairs with minors and the appeals of pulling a schoolboy, a recent pick up of mine that was notable for having occurred at the swimming pool whilst in my tatty speedo swimming costume (I didn’t realize they were running an outreach employment program for the blind), and whether or not limoncello counts as one of your five-a-day.
Then things took a rather more sinister turn. Memory loss becomes a big factor here, but this is the text message I sent to a friend on Sat morning (names have been changed to protect those involved).
“Having a day off from the health regime. Last night we all got thrown out of a club in Sohomo – HOW? Bernie got her toe broken, Bridgette called a very large bouncer a c***, Adelle got snogged by a gay punter in full tweed/cravat ensemble, Flick lost her bag and I drove a black cab down my road. Mayhem.”
Interestingly, these are only the edited highlights. We also managed to get the local constabulary involved. The amount of noise we were making, I think the bemused bobby thought one of us had been stabbed to death. Actually, what occurred was a small toe injury as a result of the bouncer’s rather hasty ejection technique. Apparently (and this has been widely disputed by the ladies) we were upsetting a couple with our rather spectacular brand of ass-wiggly dancing. Seems a bit of a prudish attitude for Soho, surely?
Upon ejection from the club
http://www.club49soho.com/
the ladies scattered like drunk cats. My last memory is managing to persuade my cabby to let me drive his cab to the end of my street. I really wasn’t expecting him to say yes (for obvious reasons) but when an opportunity like that arises I see it as my duty to make the most of it. Fortunately no one was killed. Actually, I seem to remember staring fixedly ahead, grasping the steering wheel like a short-sighted granny and travelling at a heady 2 mph. Anyone I had hit would have perhaps been mildly annoyed and sustained a small shin bruise. Still, be warned, health and safety clearly is not a big issue with some cab drivers out there!
After scouring the Northcote Road for chip emporiums (I know this because Adelle woke up with a chip on her bedside table), the remains of the coven retreated to my flat for the inevitable post-mortem. The verdict? A good night out had by all. All good clean fun. Tears, laughter, mild assault - something for everyone.
It’s clear that I am, and remain, firmly at the helm of my own hedonistic demise. But that’s the thing about being the captain of a great big boat. You can handle a tsunami.
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