Since arriving in England I have been asked by all who have visited the 'The Old Dart' whether I had been to The Church yet. Flooded with stories of strippers, drinking games and loose women I was worried. Would I place too many expectations on this mythical place and come away disappointed? No chance...
Meeting two girl mates at Waterloo station, I promptly started trying to catch up with their already inebriated state. Chugging Vodka and Red Bull from a water bottle, I sat nervously on the Tube not really knowing what to expect.
I continued grilling the girls about their experiences and became more and more excited. Apparently; one of the male strippers the week before had to cut his act short after fluorescent paint from his massive swirling penis had struck him in the eye and temporarily blinded him. Brilliant!
One of the best excuses for a Sunday afternoon drinking session, The Church party begins at midday and finishes four hours later. The building itself is situated up the road from Kentish Town Tube Station and the way is paved by burly security guards, preventing people drinking on the street and visiting the many off licence bottle shops that line the road.
Based in a built up residential area, The Church over the years has been forced to clean up the drunken shenanigans that happen on the street, subsequently people just get totally maggot on the Tube before hand. After paying the entry fee and buying a few drink tokens, I soon realise that cider suddenly tastes vaguely like razor blades in my hung-over state.
Instead I take on board three Alco-pops which taste of sugar syrup and bubbles. The drink vouchers pay for three bottles of booze from the bar, which are thrown into a plastic bag and tied around your waist. Finding my tour guides in amongst the crowd, they explain that the first hour or so is always a bit awkward as everyone tries to find their feet and drink as much piss as possible. Quite content with this I decide to do a few happy laps to check out the talent.
One of the first things you notice as you enter the building is two huge TV screens mounted slightly to the side of the stage which have a live feed to two cameras which pan over the dance floor. Any half decent girl is plastered across the screen with captions like "Show us your Fun bags" while any bloke taking himself a bit too seriously is cut down. A leggy blonde in a policewomen's outfit becomes a hit and a fun boy without his shirt on is instantly labelled a twat, I make a mental note to keep my kit on.
The building itself is a large hall, with a stage that overlooks a large dance floor. Around 1:30pm over 600 drunken messes are crowded in and the party really begins. Classic pub rock belts out from the speakers as I ply myself with more liquor and a new personality.
The girls pull me aside, saying two of their mates from a tour of Europe are here; would I like to meet them? A drunken yes spills out of my mouth. They give me a quick briefing which goes along the lines,
"Alright there is a pretty one and a slutty one, be nice to the pretty one."
Ten minutes later I'm desperately kissing the one with loose morals. Check my shit, I am a sex god! Buzzing around the dance floor I bust out my classic, drunken moves which include throwing lots of elbows, sporadic marching episodes and pelvic thrusts. After being told to settle down by two different security guards, I tell the girl I'm kissing that I love her and she laughs and pours more grog into my gullet.
The drinking games begin, with the Australian team wiping the floor with the others while the American girls get their boobs out.
The rest of the afternoon is spent full of dancing, drinking and immoral behaviour. We are all soon kicked out. The day continues with everyone heading into the Shepherds Bush Walkabout where the party continues. Even in my drunken state I'm embarrassed by my companions on the train, some openly throwing up, others trying to conceal their plight while blokes, including myself, relieve themselves where ever possible.
An Aussie themed pub which apparently packs almost 2,000 customers through its doors on a Sunday afternoon, the 'Walkie' teams with drunks on the Sabbath. Snakebites, pints of Fosters and shit shots are the favoured drinks and soon the dance floor is vibrating with drunken adventures. I find my new found love on the dance floor, bring her in close, and give her a look that says 'I want to do shocking things with the door closed'. I'm truly love struck!
We slip out of the pub, take the tube around for a while, have a feed of Macca's and then she sneaks me into the hostel room which she is sharing with a mate. Her mate heads off to use the computer, she jumps in the shower and I lie in her bed in drunken anticipation. She walks in wearing just a towel, drops it on the floor and jumps on top of me. A little later I've got a bloody nose from a stray elbow, she's got a cheeky grin on her face and we're spent. I lie there desperately wishing for a shower...