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It’s a well known adage that the best nights out are the ones that aren’t planned. These are increasingly hard to come by in London, a city beholden to Dice, Resident Advisor and Ticketmaster. WhatsApp chats must be consulted weeks before, calendars updated, Monzo requests sent out. This can make things feel forced and ultimately anticlimactic.
My friend Nick once referred to one of these kinds of nights out — at a particularly large and well-known nightclub in north London — as “battery clubbing”. We subordinate hens shuffle into the event we booked months ago, writhe about shoulder-to-shoulder for a bit, spend up to £100 on spirits and substances, and leave without having really experienced anything at all.
But the impromptu nights do still exist in London. I promise. They’re just reliant on another well-known adage: it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. Yes, that can mean DJs. And promoters. And bar staff. But more importantly, it’s gathering a devoted flock of party people and reprobates who will assemble at the very suggestion of a night out. The kind of people you need only raise an eyebrow to after three pints to know exactly what you mean. We’re not going home anytime soon. The type of people willing to travel across the city for a good time, pre-emptively bail on plans the next day, or show up to work on a raging comedown.
What you need is desperation. No good night out happens with people who are utterly content in their lives, which is why single people are always in such high demand post-9pm Thursday-to-Saturday. We’re clocking in.
No good night out happens with people who are utterly content in their lives
Once you’ve got your tools, you need a good canvas. Some of this is purely down to luck. Three to four drinks with someone where conversation is unexpectedly lively. Maybe they’ve gone through a break-up, or know everything about your mutual friend who’s gone through a break-up, or they’re in the midst of a big fight with their housemates and want to download all the granular details. You also need to be in an area where it feels like everyone else is as capable of Carrying On The Night as you. Preferably, somewhere you can crawl: Kingsland Road, Peckham Rye, Hackney Wick, and preferably somewhere people are hot and well dressed. The night must be pregnant with unlocked potential.
Maddy MussenThis can come in the unlikeliest of forms: I recently ended up on a 36-hour “two-dayer” night out after three pints with… my housemate’s brother, who wanted to meet up to talk about switching careers. Ostensibly boring stuff, but the chat was good enough and the pub lively enough for me to hit the Go button on my most reliable WhatsApp chat (literally titled “The goutiest of them all”, a reference to the inflammatory disease that took down the ultimate party girl, Henry VIII).
On another impromptu night a few months ago, a spicy margarita-fuelled chat with friends where we beat a beloved dead horse (trashing an acquaintance we hate, this time with new information) led me to Om nightclub with some Spaniards I’d never met before. I ditched the Spaniards for a talkative man whose (very pretty) face was lit by the strobe lights like a treasure chest, and stayed with him until the early hours.
You have to be open to silliness, to staying a little later
Which brings me to my final point: partying in London is about who you know, yes, but it’s also about you. You have to be open to silliness, to staying a little later, to talking to strangers. The city can sense fear. If you’re not open to new things, you won’t experience anything worthwhile. Chances are, you won’t end up in the biggest clubs, but in dive bars, dodgy pubs and kitchens (afters are the new house party and everybody knows it). F*** ticket apps, f*** the month-in-advance planning. Go out and see where you end up.