Another Monday, another night out at Powerhouse, and I’m having pre drinks at my house. That’s no problem though, my bitchin’ pre drinks playlist is primed and ready for my guests. It’s a very exclusive crowd who get invited to my pres, more because my house is a confusing beast to try and track down. Oh well, we’ll catch them up on the way to Powerhouse. A quick trip to Rusty’s/Switch/that other one gets us ready for what’s about to come once inside Powerhouse
We get in, I’ve remembered to put myself on guest list, the place is looking packed. Excellent. As we make our way onto the beautifully grimy light up dance floor, a stranger clocks my entrance, turns, and comes charging towards me, like a raging bull. ‘OMG IT’S JACK PARKER!’ They scream at me. ‘Yes, yes it is’ I reply, somewhat scared. They then begin to engage in a conversation about that time they met me and I did whatever and they thought it was fabulous and so on. Afterwards, they say their goodbyes and walk off, I tell them I’ll see them later and then turn to my friends and go ‘who was that again?’
“I’m not sure why he’s name-checking Moët so much. Personally, I’m a Lanson Black Label NV boy myself”
I get people coming up to me all the time who seem to know me and my name. It’s quite unsettling, I didn’t realise that my name has travelled quite so far. If I’m honest, I’m a shy kind of guy, I don’t enjoy all the attention that I get, y’know? I’m just a down-to-earth man of the people. Newcastle upon Tyne’s very own Jenny from the Block.
So, anyway, some guy comes up to me and he’s like: ‘do you want a bottle of Moët?’ And naturally, being the opportunistic sponger that I am, I’m like ‘yeah’. So we go to the bar and he’s all like: ‘oh can I get a bottle of Moët? A bottle of Moët? Moët?’ Giving it all that. I’m not sure why he’s name-checking Moët so much. Personally, I’m a Lanson Black Label NV boy myself. It comes to £60. He pays by card. Wow. The most I’ve ever spent in one go at Powerhouse is a tenner, and I don’t even think that was my tenner. No sooner than he obtains said Moët, he turns around to me and says: ‘Actually, I don’t want to give you any of it any more’, and walks away. But I’m not bothered, I hope it tastes like piss for all I care.
“I get people coming up to me all the time who seem to know me and my name. It’s quite unsettling, I didn’t realise that my name has travelled quite so far”
But whatever, I make a beeline for the stage, just in time to sing along to ‘All I want for Christmas is You’, and lo and behold, it’s snowing! Powerhouse is probably the only nightclub I know where it snows, I love it! From there on in, the night turns into a bit of a blur, and a few of my friends are looking like the mortal messes I have come to know and love. We saunter across to Dixy Chicken to eat some overly-spicy ersatz KFC. What a greasy end to another snow machine filled night.
