We’re in the upstairs room of a central London pub avoiding the grey dusk and pouring rain, as one is, having a drink on a Thursday night, as one does. Part of the company has dwindled to watch a gig up in Camden, and one leaves to meet with her new boyfriend.
Feeling peckish, we agree to the party’s American girl announcing a desire for a burger. I remember there is a place just down the road from the Underworld where the gig is happening, and that we can all meet up and go for one more drink.
So we pile into the tube to take it from Leicester Square to Camden Town. We emerge just on the strike of 11pm and head for the Burger King.
“Mate, they’re closed,” one of my housemates call, but I’m determined. As I step up toward the door, they open, but the manager is walking toward them presumably to lock up.
“What are you looking to buy?”
Erm. Burgers.
The manager obliges but tells us that it’s for takeaway only. That’s fine, we’ve got places to be and people to meet up with. We order, pay and head out of the door just to bump into the other two whose (atrocious, apparently) gig had just finished. I scarf down my food and shed the fries to the others as we round the corner to Greenland Place and stand outside a pub with loud music pouring out.
Was the burger good, then? Of course not! But that’s not the point, is it?
I’m suddenly not feeling it. The place looks a bit like it’d charge for entry, and the music seems really loud. One of our party heads in though, announcing he’s buying a round. No turning back from that.
Inside, the Black Heart turns out to be pretty pleasant. Sure, the music is loud but it’s the kind of stuff that neither the hardened metalhead nor the indie girl would hate. The guy tending bar immediately recognises my friend from shows he’s put on at other venues. He’s wearing a Wolves in the Throne Room t-shirt and sports a big beard. It’s strangely incongruous in a rather hipstery type of bar, but suits me fine. Plus they serve decent beers, though not cheaply.
We sit down and sing along to Tears for Fears’ Everybody Wants to Rule the World and start to take pictures of each other wearing glasses that are not ours. I end up getting the better part of the dregs of an energy drink can in my Paulaner thanks to the American getting a little bit rowdy after having a disgusting shooter.
But it’s just so much fun.
From people around the table and the guy at the bar, who also gave me a 20% discount card for no reason at all, I find out some cool gig dates coming up in the next two months. Assuming that I’m secure money-wise, there won’t be a shortage of entertainment.
Eventually, past midnight, they call last orders and turn up the lights. We run toward the tube, hoping to catch our connection back home, home for me for one more night. One of us takes a wrong turn and gets slammed into by another passenger, but we still make the original train. Running for the connecting train at Euston, the evening’s consumption begins to take a toll and I start to feel queasy. Luckily there’s trains yet and I get a seat.
I have been berated throughout the evening by my housemates for moving out, and the outspoken other half of one of them announced that I was a liar “and a vagina” for saying that I wanted nights like this to continue to happen, and happen often.
She’s not right. I’ll prove her wrong.
