A night out with the locals

On June 20, 2014December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Entertainment, Ibiza, Life, Parties, People you may have heard of, Travel/vacationsLeave a comment

Things happen in Ibiza. Nice people pick you up from the side of the road at Es Caliu restaurant and take you to VIP at the hottest gig in town.

“Who is this guy?” I asked my hostess once in the car. “You know” she replied, “He sings that song: “I need to know now, need to know now, can you love me again?” “Oh, yes, I do know it!” “He’s phenomenal” she said.

We drove through the wilds of the Ibizan countryside towards the setting sun and the even wilder environs of San Antonio.

On arrival at Ibiza Rocks Hotel we were yellow wristbanded and ascended to the VIP area. Upstairs from the balcony, we took a view – literally. From our premium vantage point we could see the by now infamous swimming pool and a young buoyant crowd, eager to see their peer perform.

It was so happening, with the buzz of a singer about to appear on stage who I feel we’ll be hearing about for years to come, that I struggled to keep up.

The charisma of John Newman’s performance was something to behold. A strong voice, a unique look and a way with words: “I know you’re all here for the week you’ve saved up all year for – so let’s ‘ave it tonight!”

Hands were in the air and R – the hostess with the mostest turned to me excitedly: “This is it! This is the song!” Everyone sang along to an anthem less intangible than those of the 90’s – closer to the heart, and transmitted from a man who wears his on his sleeve – enhanced by a voice that’s still in my head today.

The after party took place at a small rustic hotel, deserving of a guided tour such is its history on this island. I stood in reception and took in the illustrious photographs adorning the walls.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance. I heard the the Northern tones of a dominant force and immediately made my way through the fray to introduce myself.

“For goodness sake, how old are you with a voice like that?” “I’m 24” he replied. He smelled lovely, hair slicked back with a blonde streak, a gold necklace around his neck ..and I spotted some white socks. “Are they a tribute to Michael?” I asked. “No! Don’t look at the feet!” “But I love your look! It’s different. Where did you get that interesting pendant though?”

“Thank you” he said. “I try, I try. Oh…I designed the necklace myself.”

Of course he did. It goes without saying.

A festive fling

On December 24, 2013December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Life, London, PartiesLeave a comment

As befits this time of year I had high hopes for my third dance in almost as many weeks.

9pm found a few friends and I sipping martini’s in the 007 bar at Dukes Hotel. When a mature bartender in a white jacket with a silver cocktail glass badge approaches the table wheeling a tray full of drinks accoutrements, you don’t bother asking for a menu.

“Antonio” I said to our waiter, ‘This is the best dry vodka martini with a twist I’ve ever had, and I love the way you mix it at the table”. He grinned. “I’m so pleased. The lemons are from Sicily, I think they add that special touch’.

The evening floated by. A girl at the table next to us leant over. ‘My friend has just left, and I’ve still got a bottle of champagne left to drink – would you like to join me?’ Introductions were made and the chat flowed. Antonio brought us more macadamia nuts and little round things which didn’t do much to soak up the by now heady mixture of grape and grain.

People drifted off, but magic was in the air and the night was alive with possibilities. “Shall we go dancing?” I asked Naz, our new friend. “Well, we could go to Loulou’s but I go there all the time – I’m so sick of it”. “What and where is it?” I asked. “It’s the hottest club in town” she replied.

She was right. Half an hour later saw us descend to the basement of 5 Hertford Street. Suits and ties were de rigeur for the men and anything short and sassy for the girls. I felt the beat of the disco floor and I was there. “Stayin’ alive’ greeted me and I danced with abandon.

Venturing up to the glass atrium, I got chatting to a man wearing a ring with a picture of Jesus in the middle surrounded by diamonds. A lady called Dee Dee joined us and produced a slim packet of Vogue cigarettes. “They’re so cool” she said. “You sort of click them and a little blast of mintyness comes out” She took the Marlborough Light out of my hand, crushed it under her foot and said “Here have one of mine instead”.

Back on the dancefloor, arguably the song of 2013 came on. Suddenly most of 5 Hertford Street were there: a final festive fling in the right place, at the right time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZS0EpKu6RQ

Le Dome du Marais

On April 14, 2011December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Parties, Travel/vacations1 Comment

They say it’s the city that never sleeps – or is that New York? Either way “C’est ferme” was the only response we were getting at midnight in Paris. Admittedly we hadn’t finished dinner until late and now we were sauntering around looking for the next instalment of our night out.

‘Here we go Nicole’ I said. We looked at the elegant facade of a fancy restaurant and through the windows – it was buzzing inside, shapes of people moving and grooving in a quintessential French way.

I sashayed through the doors, as one does in Paris, followed by my friend, past two bouncers and a lady sitting behind what looked like a cash register. We all smiled at each other and Nicole and I carried on through to an opulent room with a large domed ceiling and a balcony upon which a dj in a vest cut down to his naval perched, headphones on, attitude intact.

‘Where’s the bar, Nicole? Isn’t this fab?! We were surrounded by the beau monde of Paris. Lots of young boys with tousled locks, pouting, dressed in black. Girls with long hair, updos and that put together look. I felt immediately out of place in my Topshop attire; totally embracing pastels and a summer silhouette – not so much that it hampered my zest for adventure though.

‘I can’t see the bar P’, Nicole replied, but they do seem to be serving champagne over there – look!’ ‘Let’s get some!’ We cruised over past the too cool for school boys that paved the way for us and I addressed the waitress: ‘Deux champagne s’il vous plait’ I said with a big grin.

‘P, I think this is a private party’ Nicole said. ‘No!’ I replied. ‘Yes! Just look at the birthday cake’. Sure enough there it was. ‘We have to have some – French cake is the best’. We debated whether or not we could stay but the view was too pretty, the champagne too delectable and we were in Paris.

After a shimmy on the dance floor to Daft Punk, we went out to the lounge area. A lady wearing a Chanel jacket approached and spoke for at least three minutes in French to me. ‘Oui, oui!’ I responded laughing. ‘Nicole, this is outrageous, we can’t stay’ I said turning to find her but it was too late; she was taking pictures of the door to the loo and a small dog that had wandered in with his owner trailing at the end of a leash.

We went to the ladies to find it was not only unisex but the most happening place at the party. People smoking and laughing, washing their hands, applying lipstick and generally carousing. A young boy with exquisite locks in a red checked shirt brushed past me. ‘May I have a cigarette please’ I asked. ‘Bien sur’ he replied running his fingers through his hair and rushing to find his Marlborough Reds to offer me one. I couldn’t help it; when in France.

We sampled some birthday cake, a delicious confection of chocolate, crunchy noisette and cream, mingled, and then shimmied some more to Kool and the Gang ‘Take My Heart’. We went to the lounge again and danced out there. ‘Love Hangover’ came on but just as the climax of the song was about to kick in, the dj stopped it and played it from the beginning again. We laughed.

Suddenly there he was beside us. ‘ I love the tunes you’re playing’ I said in English. ‘I dj in ‘alf an hour on the Champs Elysee to maybe 1,000 people – just say my name on the door and you ‘ave a place’, he replied. ‘Ooooh’ I said, ‘What is your name?’ ‘Pasolini’ he replied as he scribbled it down for me and then vanished into the night.

‘Let’s go Nicole!’ I said. She wisely pointed out that if we did, we’d be up until dawn and sleep though the gift that would be another sunny Spring day for being out and about soaking up the atmosphere. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but we departed, high on our night out and looking forward to tomorrow.

For further flavour, plug your earphones in and have a listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJPYQLp_jsk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrBYKslPrbg

The quest for fruit

On March 26, 2011December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn London, PartiesLeave a comment

Truly glamorous parties where care and attention is taken to ensure a perfect venue, a theme and whatever libation your heart desires all night long are rare, and when the opportunity arises must be embraced for the maximum enjoyment that such generosity affords.

As I walked in and noticed the grand spiral staircase, I realised I’d been here before but not for some years. A myriad of rooms followed with Prosecco and gin gimlet bars, hog roast, other delectables and waiters dressed as Bavarians.

I met V at the bar. We chatted. He offered me a cigarette. ‘I haven’t been out for months, this is a big night for me, and I’ve got to do the Ideal Home Show in the morning’. I sympathised as a gentleman in Lederhose and hat sporting a feather topped up my glass. I looked around the room to see if there was anyone else I knew.

Black tie and blazers for the men and in some cases the girls too. The occasional flash of old-school Hollywood glamour by way of a floor length bias cut mink gown or a shimmering silver one. My gold dress and purple snakeskin heels longed for some more company and I set out to find it.

‘Just go for it’ said N pointing to the mounds of Globe and Jerusalem artichokes at the vegetable bar. Next to these a vibrant plate of seaweed nestled, surrounded by platters of baby radishes and carrots with stalks intact, stacks of peppers, white asparagus and any other hard to get legume you could imagine.

My purple shoes ascended the staircase carefully and entered the large drawing room packed to the rafters with smokers – cheroots, cigarettes and cigars. V appeared again and offered me another. ‘What are these though V?’ I asked, peering at the packet and trying to decipher the obscure brand. He shrugged pointing out that he only had two left and wanted me to have one. I was touched.

Perky introduced me to Flo. We talked about life and love and how the latter was as hard to find as a red orange. ‘And, don’t forget when you do – there might be other problems’.

The dance floor beckoned. On my way there I ran into an ex and his beautiful Russian girlfriend. ‘She tried to break up with me tonight – I had to really persuade her to come’. ‘Oh! Flowers?’ I said. She looked a bit sad, ‘He’s never given me flowers’. ‘I bet he will one day’ I replied, smiling.

At 12.30am, mindful of a full Saturday ahead, I decided it was time to go. ‘How was your evening?’ the coat check girl asked. ‘Fabulous’ I replied. ‘It had everything – but the quest for red oranges remains’.

Just dance..

On November 15, 2010December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Life, London, PartiesLeave a comment

Last night saw a trip down memory lane courtesy of Mahiki. Out celebrating a friend’s birthday in the vip area the treasure chest cocktails kept coming – complete with sparklers and an entourage who turned the razzamatazz on for the punters.

‘Jeez, it’s like someone gave the kids the run of the bar and they made the cocktails. Where are we – on a cruise ship?!’ Pinky said, as I tried to manoeuvre the straw past the flowers and pineapples to find the liquid Hawaiian tropic beneath. ‘Don’t mix your drinks’ he added as I sipped the champagne next to it and wondered when I might start on the vodka martini.

The noise ratcheted up. The 80s tunes rang out. I headed to the DJ booth: ‘Any chance of some Michael please?’ I asked. ‘Nah, we don’t play the music of dead people’ he replied.

I headed back, suitably chastened and crossed the ropes. A’ boy band’ – all in white shirts with evidence of serious hair product, had arrived and an endless stream of girls appeared to have photos taken. ‘What are you called?’ I shouted over the din. ‘The Graduates’ he shouted back as he turned to pose with his fellow mates.

I headed to the Ladies. 18 year olds abounded in six inch heels and dazzling dresses. Hair was everywhere and the conversation was no holds barred: ‘Yah, well she’s a bitch alright – I told you that. Like, totally’. ‘Anyway, her Dad’s gonna get her the white Mercedes – do you know the one I mean? Like, Gaaaad I wish I’d worn my other shoes!’

In our exclusive zone, the party was reaching a crescendo. Lady Gaga blasted out: ‘Just dance..it’ll be okay’. And everyone did. ‘You’re not really a boy band, are you?’ I persisted. ‘Well, no but we are choreographers – in fact he’s on Strictly tomorrow night’ he replied pointing at a young boy drinking out of a large pineapple, surrounded by screaming girls. ‘And, yeah we like, teach the X Factor contestants how to dance – we help them’. ‘Oh!’ I said. So, you’re sort of X Factor mentors?’ ‘Yeah’, he replied. ‘I like that. Yeah, that’s what we are’

We made our way past the ropes, and now bouncers, and out into Mahiki proper. Carnage reigned. A girl sat alone, head in hands bowed over the table, hair asunder. Two boys in tight t shirts looked on amused. People were falling into each other, some were kissing. Sparklers were everywhere.

Was this my Stringfellows, my Wag Club, my Funkin’ Pussy, my Rhinodrome, my Timepiece? The names are hazy now but at 4am as the beginnings of a hangover started working its magic, I looked around and it struck me, reassuringly, that nothing had really changed at all – just the price.