World hold on

What a weekend! Discos, dinners and debauchery. How old are we, again? Clubs are danced in with university-party gusto. Food is eaten with reckless abandon. And Monday mornings are very, very quiet.

One such night of abandon involved going to see Bob Sinclar (le mec in the pink bunny suit pictured above). I've seen/heard him once before in New York, where we waited 2 hours to get in, were frisked at the door by a bouncer whose job is also obviously his hobby, and then had to put faith in the club that the white spot at the end of the hall with lasers coming out of it was in fact him, and not just someone with his music on their ipod.

So, once burnt, twice shy. I arrived 2 hours early to pick up our tickets. Wore bouncer-proof clothes (i.e. very little) and donned my most winning smile. I needn't have worried. The ticket booth was an island of peace and quiet. And I couldn't tell if the subservient looking chap at the velvet rope was a bouncer or a bell boy. So, I bought our tickets and killed time in the member's only terrace of the club. No, I'm not a member. No, they didn't care.

Friends came and went, T finally arrived. We walked into what I expected to be a huge moulin-rouge-type place with go-go dancers hanging off the ceiling. Turns out Dragon I (the club) is tiny. We must have been all of 800 people. That's smaller than the Lycee Francaise in Barcelona! (Probably same proportion of French people). And what a night we had! Bob Sinclar played all his usuals, mixed in plenty of U2 and MC Hammer and we danced, and danced and danced. Thanks Bob!

Real (crap) footage of the night:


What it sounded like (listen to it - ignore strange imagery -only thing I could get from youtube):


Happy Monday!