I expected to hate this place. It was meant to be posh, which I translated in my head as 'pretentious', and the £20 entry charge did nothing to dispell that impression in my head. My only experience with a club that was marketed as 'posh' was DSTKRT or whatever and that was disastrous. Roof Gardens was also the only place that he goes to for clubbing in London and after our various conversations on the topic, I'd reached the conclusion that he was way too picky when it comes to club venues. I don't mind (that much) stepping on a sticky dance floor if I like the music and if I only have to pay £5, maximum £10, to get in (note that entry fees do not typically include a free drink), but I definitely cannot imagine the sort of faces he'd pull if I ever dragged him to somewhere like Koko.
We got in free that night, thankfully. And despite all my misgivings, thankfully, the place turned out to be pretty incredible. It was posh but not pretentious and it reminded me of the sort of cool places that me and Mag used to seek out for a girls' night out in Singapore. It's called Roof Gardens because there is an outdoors area where people can drink and socialise and actually talk, away from the thumping loud music of the club. It was unfortunate, then, that it's currently winter and true to form, it was cold and rainy and wet that night. But oh, how glorious it would be in the summer.
I didn't like half the music the club played. The music that I didn't like was also the music that he liked. He's into electro stuff which puts my brain to sleep, and I needed two drinks before I could get into it. (Aside: My first drink was so bad that I literally had to force myself to finish it. It was some random cocktail with berries in it which tasted like medicine.) The DJs mixed up the electro thingies with some real clubbing music - hip hop and R&B. That made me happy. After our third drink, I felt happily tipsy.
He ran into a friend in the place (these French people...so pretentious) and he quite adorably tried to fix his friend up with these two random Asian girls, who moved away after about 10 seconds. I think they were lesbians.
I think, too, that I shouldn't wear heels the next time. Nevertheless, we made out like there was no tomorrow on the dancefloor. When we stepped outside for a breather and sat on one of the sofas with overhead heaters, I nearly fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. When we got up to leave, we had to walk past a row of sofas to get off the balcony. A group of guys said something to him. He replied, 'She's a long-term investment!'
Everything felt better under the covers of a deliberately-dimmed darkness; under the influence of alcohol; and under the droning beats of meaningless music. We left at 3am. It was also when the club closed. The cold winter air outside broke the spell of the night, and I remembered that I was still pissed. He was hurt when I said that I wanted to go home alone.
Still. I'd kissed him and I had meant it. Things felt amazing that night. I felt better the next day; I feel better now. Some of that magic lingers, still.