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.
