My night at Basement: PRICK Magazine edition

Bare with me because I’m still a bit fucked.

I sit here on the Downs, at 4:31 in the morning, having just ripped my Boots-bought plastic nails off my index fingers with my teeth (pictures below). I do this because I had an image of me ending the night on the Downs whilst watching the sunrise. And, if any of you know me at all, when I have an image of me doing or achieving something, I will not rest until the image becomes a reality. My spare jumper (I thought I may get cold, so I brought two) is gingerly placed over the screen of my laptop as it appears to have begun raining quite heavily.

I will refrain from reviewing in-depth (quite unlike me, I know) the night, or the magazine that the night stemmed from in this specific post, and I doubt I will in general. Despite having not picked one up from Basement, I have, in fact, already combed through the whole thing. I enjoyed reading it, immensely. It’s very funny and oftentimes thought-provoking so you should absolutely pick one up if you can. I think there was quite obviously, and it shows, quite a lot of effort put into it. So, congratulations.

Now, onto the rundown of the night. After running from George Stiff’s flat with the determination of an ox to get to the bus stop so I could go early with the people that wanted to go early-ish too. We got into the club, after some waiting around as a result of Hannah and I deciding to share a cheeky Blue Raspberry Dragonsoop(?) and, so a previously evicted Galit could get in too.

I shamelessly flirted with the incredibly fetching men stationed at the front desk where one particularly dashing man in a Mickey Mouse Hat scanned my QR code, whilst the other stunning specimen in a little patterned shirt stamped my wrist. Very sensual.

I was feeling a slight buzz at the beginning of the night, which normally would be enough to last me a lot longer in the club, but for some reason, I was feeling a bit anxious. So, after twirling my arms and hands around for a little while, aided by my brilliant bell-sleeved top and acrylics, as well as slightly swinging my hips, it was time to top up our energy. Maja and I skipped to the bathroom in glee, and she spent the whole ten minutes in the queue being the cutest and sweetest little thing in the whole world.

To be honest, here is where my very recent memory gets very blurry. I took a Bathroom Break and suddenly was out like a light. I remember thinking several distinct thoughts:

• I cannot recognise even my best friends. I knew the girls in front of me were Eden and Maja, but for the life of me, their faces had gone. Very sad.

• I think I may need water, this fan in my face is sucking out every bit of moisture in me.

• I absolutely have no idea where I am or who’s around me.

• And my personal, melodramatic, favourite: if I stop dancing, I may actually collapse and die.
  

I remember the music being absolutely fantastic and very much the only reason I am still standing and stuck out the trippy nightmare. Regardless of these quite intrusive thoughts, I am very aware that I still had a fantastic time. Yes, I did look at Django as he spoke to me taking absolutely nothing in and being very confused at the man standing in front of me. And yes, I did tell Jenny that if she spun me or touched me I’d lose my shit. Nevertheless, I had an absolutely banging few hours. For every shit thought, there were about twenty amazing ones to make up for it. “Bussing down” ability in there was 10000/10 and the company was fantastic too.

Anyway, at one point I remember saying to Hannah: “I think I really need some water, but I’m too scared to get it myself because they’ll kick me out”. She brought me to the bar, we had some water, and we had an outside break. At which point, I somehow completely snapped out of it. Don’t get me wrong I was not sober at all, I felt like I had drunk about seventy coffees back to back. Nevertheless, I was now acutely aware of what was going around with me, and my faded vision almost became more high-definition than usual. Then, the night really became fun. With my new lease on life (as I was just so happy to actually know what was happening around me), I pulled out all the faves. Tonight there were two: the “point-with-your-thumb-to-the-side” and the “battle rope”. Neither are official dance-move names but that is the only way I can describe them (and trust me, I’ve tried to google it). I also did some man-boob grabbing and arse slapping, because apparently, that’s what one has1 to do when accosted by a 6’” man in a tight white dress, undoubtedly made for a woman in her mid-fifties.

In a tale as old as time, I stayed with Hannah and George until the night ended, particularly because almost every person I knew there was kicked out by the mean bouncers at one point. It did not significantly affect the quality of the night and you best believe I still wiggled my little bum as much as possible. When the music stopped, I said my goodbyes, and we set off for the U1 bus. Then, I started getting quite giddy as I checked my steps whilst traipsing up Park Street and they were well past 10k. Already!

The happy news was not to last for long because the bus appeared to be getting in in half an hour. We had just missed it! £5 Bolt in check, and a very “span-dangled” George in hand (that’s his new favourite buzz word it seems), the three of us and Ted, were chauffeured home. Not before Ted found a phone on the road belonging to a girl named Chandi. I pulled up her University email, sent her a quite alarming message consisting of, "Hello. I have your phone" and screamed her name abrasively in the direction of Jason Donnervan. No dice.

My plan to go to the Downs was set in stone. After saying goodnight to the others, and going to say goodnight to Ed, I gave a very appreciative Chandi her phone back (I found her!) and packed my bag, equipped with some pita bread, a book, my laptop, a blanket, and two jumpers and set off on my trek up the hill.

All-in-all, a 30000/10 night. But I may be being slightly biased, I don’t know,