After work, it was going to be the first instance of new weekly Rocksteady. I took my new priorities of sleep then people then stuff very seriously by going to the new old faithful, the Reliance, having a great deal of fun talking lovely nonsense with those members of the Rocksteady Massive who were present, then, er, disappearing about an hour after I got to the club.
Mostly faffing about, then panicking and sticking eight CDs into a bag. This was in aid of Poptimism 2.0* wherein the absence of two of their regular DJs was replaced by 12 people getting 4 songs in 15 minutes to convince the public to dance dance dance. Though scheduling opposite White Mischief and Stay Beautiful means that there are at times slightly less public than DJs. Anyway, it was a great deal of fun, I came I played I entirely failed to conquer. I did get three things happening: My first song ("Death to Los Campesinos!") got Phonogram writer Keiron Gillen on the dancefloor for the first time (yes, I totally fanboyed him afterwards), the same one got ruudboy to come over and go "This is great what is this?", and although my second song (Missy's "We Run This") nearly cleared the floor except for atommickbrane and friedslice, the latter did come over to me and say "I was going to play this!". So clearly the moral victory is mine.
After much arghing, I turn up three hours late to the joint birthdays of therealjo and Charlie No 4, which is being held in Clissold Park, during Stokefest. It is I think the first proper festival I have attended since moving over, and I'd forgotten some things, like the rubbish everywhere and the eternal queues for food and my hatred of the human race. Though once you get away from the actual central bit with those features (and also the music), it was pleasant enough. A quiet rest of the day, and indeed hard at work on Monday, until:
Quiet day, mostly in work due to clients in on Tuesday.
Off to The Elderfield nee Eclipse for some pints, as dubdobdee, hoshuteki, ultraruby, boyofbadgers, katstevens were brought together by miss_newham to say an unofficial goodbye to catsgomiaow before she leaves for
Down to Nunhead to hang around with tigerpig, and out to local pub Swiss Tavern. It has been a long time since I did Karaoke in a pub, and even then I'm pretty sure I wasn't 2/3 of the only white people there. In retrospect Ice Ice Baby might have been a mistake - but it wasn't! Sara sang Fist City and Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps beautifully. Also featured was an elderly bloke who applied the same style of singing to Georgia On My Mind and Vandross weepie more or less independently of the words on screen or the suggested speed, and a lady in trainers, t-shirt and her early twenties who produced a hair-raisingly good version of "I'm Every Woman", perfect in every aspect, including the trips off-script.
Quiet again. Productive.
*Sorry about that.