OBAMATRON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Camilla's Store guest contributor asks....

What’s a Saturday night out without a Boogie?

So finally I’ve made it to the motherland. I swear North London is not just convenient geographically, but mentally and … well just simply more convenient for life. To prove the point – during one of my last expeditions south of the channel I stupidly agreed to cycling to Paris for charity. Now, ultimately I will get into Heaven quicker but its playing havoc with my social life!

After hitting the gym for two hours in the morning, followed by an afternoon session on how to get to Paris (two stops down the Northern Line and then change was what I had previously thought) I waded past the paps outside Wino’s house to visit my brother for some bicycle buying advice.

Now we –trons are not known for our sobriety, and ebay bike hunting quickly turned into a drinking game using his flatmate’s fine chilled Chablis for shots. Soon plans were afoot for a night out – Hackney, Shoreditch, Camden…Highgate?!

Highgate isn’t normally known for wild nights, but that’s because it likes to keep itself secret. We started at Papa Del’s pizza place with its knobbly tables and excellent pizzas (although they rather oddly but the topping underneath the cheese, surely they’re no longer toppings then), but more importantly their desert menu consists of only cookies! You just can’t look hard sipping your double espresso and whisky when you have a white chocolate cookie in the other hand – but it’s just too good!


With that warm whiskey feeling in the pit of our stomachs we rambled our way down to Boogaloo – can a pub go wrong with a name like that?! With a massive outside area, loads of seating inside and the best bar staff ever, the place was jumping! A crowd of hip young north Londoners, bored with the otherwise inevitable and seemingly eternal trek back from east London, gave the place had a relaxed vibe but with a pumping soundtrack. It wasn’t long before the –trons were throwing some wicked shapes on the floor and soon everyone was up and loving the boogie!

OBAMATRON ..........


You just can’t say no to some Tiki Tiki

It would appear that I have complete disregard for my golden rules, for yet again I’ve ended up south of the river. I keep south of the river friends, not because they're sligthly dim and good drinkers, but rather because I feel its like doing a good deed everyday, and one day the government will introduce some form of tax credit for us for putting up with them. This weekend, however, I have good reason – a good friend’s birthday.

We started at what must be one of the quaintest pubs in London, the Prince of Wales on Clever Square – a quiet conservation area seemingly detached from the modern world right by the permanently grid-locked Kennington Road. What makes this place different, it that in place of those stuffy private gardens you find in Kensington squares, here you find a gravel patch more akin to the those in dusty old French villages. But, again, instead of old men with guts the size of small planets, here you find a young crowd of city professionals playing petanque with their pint or G&T in their hand.



Like the gin and tonic, legendary nights are made in great pairings. We started with the calm Prince but upon last orders then moved onto the buzzing South London Pacific Bar – or to you and me – Tiki Tiki. Decked from head to toe in bamboo and Easter Island statues this place is so naff, it’s off the hook! Dancing, and crooning along, to Michael Jackson and the like, some very beautiful boys and girls drink down some of the best cocktails this side of the Channel – including the lethal lager-rita, a margherita in a tall glass topped off with a bottle of Sol. I’m a robust drinker, but even those floor me within minutes!

However, the best measure for determining a great bar – their policy on when to chuck people out. In this place, if you’re caught even blinking slowly you’re out, falling asleep practically leads to an outright ban! One bouncer was once overheard saying 'you're not coming in - you look too tired to party hard'. Now, I had been pre-warned of this ruthless policy, so knowing my susceptibility to the sleeps after one to many lager-ritas, I quietly toddled off home to the North whilst the sun crawled over the horizon.

INTRODUCING OBAMATRON - GUEST CONTRIBUTOR TO CAMILLA'S STORE

The Door to Narnia is at London Bridge

Now, I must admit, I am not the biggest fan of London south of the river – call me a snob, but along with ‘don’t dabble in heroin’ and ‘its always quicker to use the Victoria Line’, it is one of my golden rules. The other day, however, after a few too many caipirinhnas at La Perla, I ventured behind a simple black door beneath London Bridge station and found the entrance to a new subterranean world - Shunt.

Essentially an art-cum-night club run by an artist co-op to inspire those who want something a bit different for their Saturday night out. Most importantly though, its always evolving as each week will be curated by a different Shunt artist. Some will fill the space with nonstop entertainment, some will do next to nothing, fortunately the bar staff are more reliable.

At first it seems like entering into a lawyer’s office with its dark wood panelling and thick velvet drapes. As you walk on though, the luxurious fabrics slip down revealing bare brick, the light diminishes as the ceiling rises, and the air becomes heavy with damp. Before you know it, you’ve entered a warren of massive caverns, each one filled with something different – a bar, a theatre, an art installation, or a live band on stage. I half expected to stumble across some form of ultimate fighting match between Alexa Chung and Daisy Lowe, but instead we found vintage pacman - not the same but just as addictive

After freeing a decent bottle of Nicolas Feuillatte from behind the gigantic bar, we wandered from cave to cave following the eclectic crowd of Missoni maxis, Henry Holland Tee’s and Daks suits. Small groups sat round talking on the sofas, whilst others start to hit the dancefloor, all lit by hundreds and thousands of candles.

Now, it was at the point of discovering a dinner party parked on the back of a milkcart that things start to get a little hazy, and golden rule number four stepped in – black cab, always!

Exciting news Camilla's Store devotees (of which, I'm certain, there are literally thousands!)... I am pleased to announce that we are to have a guest contributor!

Obamatron will be sending word from the darker echelons of London life. As a champagne socialist, Obamatron will be going to great lengths to bring news and reviews from the London club and bar circuit, giving you all something to do once the shops have shut and the bad boys come out to play.

Check back soon for the first installment!