Waiting for the night bus in Camden on Saturday, my friends and I were approached by a scruffy, middle-aged Irish guy who told us about 10 different jokes. The pound I dropped into his palm at the end was probably the best money I spent all night.
Before that, we had queued up to get into Proud Galleries where we were on the guest list. It is usually a cool place to hang out with photography exhibitions by day and a club with bands and little rooms you can use to play pool or table football by night. On Saturday, it was packed to the point of claustrophobic, had a £10 cover charge and impossible queues at the bar. Music was decent and I was in good company, but that’s about it.
We stayed a few hours and then went back into the cold February air, walked past all of the people still trying to get in and found ourselves an empty shisha lounge with red heat lamps and comfy seats outside. The food was terrible, but the double apple shisha we shared was great and we spent the rest of our night laughing and relaxed.
Proud? Not on a Saturday night. Shisha bar? Yes.