Cherry pick a fruity party

Early November has the annual pleasure of hosting, within the space of 48 hours, three of my best girlfriends' birthdays.

It is always a monumental occasion with a devastating effect on our collective bank balances and brain cells. But despite the undeniable place it holds in our hearts as the biggest week of the year, the pressure to find a venue cooler, faster and more fabulous than the previous year is a ­constant source of panic.

Well only, that is, if it's down to you to find it. This year, taking one for the team in a moment of blind insanity, I offered to come up with the location for said debauchery.

Scouring the capital, asking everyone from old raving buddies to workmates, nothing quite fit the criteria. Then, right down to the wire with only 24 hours to spare, a glowing neon advertisement for Cherryjam blinked into my inbox.

I could have wept as I cast my eye over the website of the newly refurbished Westbourne Grove club — mouthwatering cocktail menu and décor to match, plus a night called Bandinkadink running on the Friday in question: a night that's ­guaranteed to put the "let loose in your pancreatic juice".

Images of catheters and Imodium tablets flashed before my eyes, but I read on and realised the metaphorically imaginative DJ duo were merely describing their enormous selection of natty dance floor bangers: all killers and no fillers, from dubstep to disco. It sounded perfect for us.

The press attention hovering around the fresh refurb has certainly boosted Cherryjam's profile, but since it opened in 2002 under the loving eye of Ben Watt from Everything But The Girl the late-night hotspot with a modest attitude and an enviable guest list has welcomed a host of celebs from Kate Moss to Jade Jagger, plus live music from The Libertines to Corinne Bailey Rae.

Now broadcaster Nick Snaith of Heart 106.2 and Dave Kelly, a voiceover artist, have bought the club, taken the reins and injected that touch of extra glamour, turning it into the ideal spot for our birthday extravaganza.

With a massive sigh of relief I made the call. The girls were keen as mustard and before long it was Friday night and we were through the understated entrance and shimmying down the aluminium staircase to the lavish underground cocoon in our finest party regalia.

As we approached the bar for a round of champagne cocktails (£8.50 each) the impact of the décor impressed us all. It was cosy and intimate, but the floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one side gave an illusion of space and, as Vicky (birthday girl No 1) pointed out, a ­serious opportunity for posing.

The Nineties dance anthems were already under way in the form of Blue Boy's ­Remember Me and, although it was only 11pm, the dancefloor — a super-shiny black disco piste complete with glitter ball — was already packed. It was nice to see such a healthy quota of handsome young men mixed in with the luscious ladies dancing round their handbags. Oh yeah, and not forgetting a dwarf, too.

A private party of revellers had hired the pocket-sized party guest to liven up their evening and it wasn't long before Lucy (birthday girl No 2) had infiltrated the group and was boogieing away with him on the dance floor.