Brave (or foolhardy) Kate Hutchinson volunteered to try anything. So you sent her clubbing at 7am…
I’m at Village Underground, a cavernous club packed with people dancing as if they might never dance again. So what? It’s in Shoreditch, you may shrug. Except, something is deeply wrong with this scenario. I note the DJs sipping superfood smoothies. There are massage mats around the dancefloor. It doesn’t smell like a club’s usual combination of wee and beer; instead there’s a whiff of incense, which I now see is wafting around legwarmers, gold-lamé bikinis and pyjamas. I look at my watch and it says 7am. On a Wednesday. No, this isn’t right at all.
Normally, you’d only find me up at this time if I was still on the go from the night before and had fallen into a fridge of energy drinks on my way to the next club. But this is Morning Glory: ‘conscious clubbing’ for those who want to ‘rave their way into the day’. It’s less club, it turns out, more uplifting alternative to your usual morning workout. So if you’re a heads-down dancefloor-shuffler, this is not for you.
Me, I’m a bounce-on-the-spotarms- awkwardly-swaying kinda gal but, even so, I’m intimidated by the unnervingly enthusiastic Very Goodlooking Dancers (VGDs) flexing their limbs like the cast of ‘Footloose’, and the even more unnervingly enthusiastic people rocking out by themselves. What have they done with their inhibitions? Have they murdered them and hidden them under the stairs? The lights are on, for God’s sake. I shuffle nervously, hoping no one will see me. Too late! A VGD in a dressing-gown bounds over with a glow stick. Why are they all so happy?
Time to find me a (caffeine) hit. Luckily, there’s a coffee van and a smoothie bar inside the venue. I down an espresso and opt for a Kryptonite-green spirulina, which I am promised does not taste like pulped eyeballs and is actually packed with the sort of slumpbusting nutrients I need for three hours of shape-throwing.
The soundtrack helps too: I’d imagined some sort of bohemian ‘dolphin house’, but it’s all fun chart dance tunes and the crowd whoops along. Refreshed, I spy a row of hula hoops and attempt to work on ‘my core’. And then it happens: I wiggle and wiggle until I’m positively buzzing my tits off. From endorphins! Who knew? One more smoothie and I could be a conscious clubbing convert after all.