Fashion's Mr Fashion,
and AOY's resident guru for all things expensively transient,
Dean Havinett dons his flouro-snood and reports
on London's hippest joints to drink, be seen, and be seen drinking.
CLENCH
Situated
on one of London’s busiest intersections, Clench can only
be accessed by pedestrian footbridge. This is only the first
of a dizzying array of ultra-trendy renovations undertaken
by owner Jean-Hugo Floriard over the last six months. The
upstairs bar, formerly made of marbles, has been completely
removed and replaced by an electric fence, the walls have
been lengthened to accommodate giant projections of a dalmation
retrieving a balloon full of biscuits from inside a cello,
and the seating area has been converted into a dancefloor
– with the original armchairs still in place. The resident
groove-peddler, DJ Constantine, spews forth an erotic blend
of industrial bulb-tech & knee-jerk funk sludge till the early
hours, attracting a lively crowd of urban gloop-freaks and
wasted gasboys. Life-affirming and highly recommended.
LOOM-IN-ESSENCE
This opulent lounge bar has quickly established itself
as the ultimate post-club hangout, combining a near-dark interior
with décor synthesised from hot fudge and blankets.
The intimate vibe is further enhanced by the complete lack
of staff - all services are provided by robots converted
from old vacuum cleaners. Even the bouncers are automated - malfunctioning dodgem cars full of bricks, which ensure
that anyone not suitably chillaxed gets refused entry and
bundled into a skip. Each night in the main bar, performance
artist Maggie 7 unleashes multiple pots of paint on the walls.
Stoned wastrels are invited to watch it dry from a special
viewing platform. For those seeking a little more stimulation,
the back bar offers complimentary green tea accessed from
ceiling hoses while the latest smudge-jazz remixes are pumped
subliminally into the cerebral cortex. The perfect environment
in which to embrace one’s hangover.
NOGGIN
The
price of an admission ticket will gain you entry to one of
the capital’s hippest joints: Noggin. Converted from
a disused warship, this cavernous drinking hull has become
increasingly popular with local criminals and celebrities
alike - all of them beguiled by the imaginative use of original
features and the promise of cheap booze. At 10pm, the slope
of the dancefloor starts to increase by one degree each minute.
By 11.30, it has become a dividing wall, separating the bar
from a large dancefloor-sized area of machinery, affectionately
known by the regulars as “the counterweight.”
Hardcore party mongerers, typically sporting Fanuccini jerkins
and Xanc cutlery, can slug phials of pure ethanol in this
area till 5am, when the dancefloor swiftly closes in on them.
Last week, Cindy Fornicade, the popular host of ITV’s
So You Think You Can Host a Game Show?,
was found mashed in cog no. 6 with a half-slurped Ditchbeast
still in her hand. A startling and unique venue.
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