Pacha, London - beware of imitations

Work is winning the war of my 9 to 5 attention so unfortunately, the blog’s been suffering in ignored silence. I say 9 to 5 but it’s a bit more than that with very little lunchtime and working a later than I’d like. With the added stress I was looking forward to Sam’s birthday night in London.

After a prep meeting at Kev and Karol’s we met the rest in the Thistle Hotel bar next door to Pacha, our final destination. The posh revolving door, 2 story high ceilings and chandeliers put us in our place as we entered the bar. Next to us were WAGs or wannabe WAGS and in the other corner, a heap of golf bags and MDs celebrating their low score sheets and high salaries. Not sure if it was me drinking slow or everyone wanting to go quickly.

As well as Sam’s birthday celebration, we were there to see Keith’s DJ mates perform the early slots. They did a grand job playing some nice electro house or 'fidget house' with even some Detroit stuff which went down well for us. The DJs after were rubbish but only matched the quality of the clientele with WAGs, wannabes, w*nkers, tourists and hen nighters. What unnerved was the use of crappy, snatches of sampling from those shite beach holiday tunes avoided in the 90’s. We recoiled in horror as we heard the crowd sing ‘oo oo’ (as in ‘let’s all chant’) and distant memories of being dragged along to Ritzy’s with a playlist the same as Hitman & Her. Stock, Aiken and Waterman had been awakened and being bought by a new wave of tasteless zombies. The other room had better music but it was more like a bar so couldn’t dance. We couldn’t arsed waiting for the Hoxton Whores to DJ so kidnapped Kev and escaped back to theirs. Felt sorry for Sam and only hope the music output got better.