Events
D&AD Awards ‘08 - Brought to you by James Wormald -
This being the first of the Pre-Launch Events of the new London Me Up, it means I’m writing this a good 7 months after the actual event took place. My apologies then, if the account at times might seem a tad... stilted. The night started after something quite unnatural for a Me Up night to start after. A day of work!
Myself, along with other LMU Pledge Akin & Jana, brought our evening wear in that morning. I’d say we worked as normal until around 2pm, but you wouldn’t believe me. When in actual fact, we did just dick about, sending emails to one another, flicking through Facebook photos, perhaps calling someone once an hour. This however was as normal as a priest’s morning schedule of buggery
On rolled 2pm, and the full office ran with delight to don our party attire, with the glee of Gary Glitter at Disneyland.
Upon arriving at the venue, it was a good few hours before the thing really got kicking. Half 6 the Champagne reception was due to start, so we had some time to kill. Myself and Akin managed to get about 10 minutes of good quality sitting in before being collared by Diana. Apparently they’d dramatically underestimated the time it would take to fill the ‘goody bags’. There were roughly 20,000 of these things to fill. And in the last 3 hours, they’d managed 4. Despite my personal opinion being that goody bags are things of children’s parties, and that is solely where they should remain... I’m British, so I kept schtum. Rolled up my sleeves and mucked in.
After finishing the bags it was about 18:20. There would only be a limited period of free champagne before the start of the ceremony. A period in which I planned to spend the entire time hurling champagne at my face. However after rushing to get the bags finished, I was hotter than the day I built the sun. (It only took me a day... I don’t know what they were playing at with Rome! Someone should have got sacked for that fiasco) So Akin and I thought it best to catch some fresh air. Unfortunately the area we chose was out the back with the bins so the air wasn’t exactly fresh. But it was cool, that’s all I cared about.
Once we’d cooled down, and discussed the advantages of clothes pegs, however uncomfortable... we stepped back into the Royal Festival Hall. But oh no... there was some sort of problem. Despite having tickets, we were being held by security. It seemed we were not allowed in until 19:00... and over at the other side of the building. Our claims of actually working for the festival organisers, and of having spent the past 2 hours packing bags with USB sticks were falling on deaf ears. Even after making the International Sign of ‘I’m going outside for a bit, but I’ll be back. So remember my face and let me back in when I come back. O.K?’ with eye contact. They were still having trouble. Finally we managed to schmooze them over to our side and get our asses out to the veranda where the champagne was flowing as freely as a Philippine Paedophile.
After the ceremony had started... and Simon Amstell had already pulled some pretty good jokes about Lynx smelling like shit out of his tight collared shirt, it became all too clear that the company’s seats had not been allocated together. Most probably just here and there to fill the gaps. In a brief 10 minute period of LMU style inspiration, Akin, Jana and myself managed to excuse ourselves away from our respective solo seats to the toilets. Luckily avoiding any jeers from Amstell in the process. And the three of us in turn, took up residence in the front row. Now with a full and clear view of Amstell, the winners, AND Simon Waterfall’s frankly astounding Pencil adorned suit.
After the 2 long, bar-less hours of ceremonies, the sobriety had long since consumed any remnants of champagne in our systems. You’ll understand why then, the theatre’s exit doors were left swinging before Amstell could get the first noun out of his ‘That’s it Folks’ line.
Always the intellectual types, the LMU contingent headed straight, not for the bar following the herd. But to the caricaturist’s photo booth. And first were we to get there. Well Akin was first. I was second. Until some twat... some EGO in a Gucci suit called Cutsys, then Backsys. Backsys. Backsys. Backsys etc. I was told it took the caricaturist just 60 seconds to complete his sketch. Yet I seemed to be waiting ‘2nd’ in that queue for half an hour.
One more than short trip to the bar, and one free drink token, found me with a double rum & coke... and off I went to join the rest of the pack. Upon my travels, I managed to find none other than The Great... The Gorgeous... The Legend that is... Sami. She hadn’t queued for a sketch and consequentially visited the bar a number of times more than myself. In fact by the looks of her, she hadn’t even been to the ceremony.
I also managed to find amongst others, the lovely Anna, Kim, Wooks, Dion, Fany, and Mirella. During which a crazy period of stealing my trendy hat and showing off how much cooler than I they all look with it.
I was just settling in with Gemma, and Jana... really starting to get a groove on to the band. (some sort of South American style naked breakdancers. I think they were called something fun, like The Nudey Boys... something like that) when suddenly, it happens. Raylene runs over to me. “Jarmes! Jarmes!” She shouts. I almost pegged it on instinct built up over the past 4 months. But it’s O.K. She’s spotted someone. Someone we both know. It’s only Tiger bloody Savage! ‘Get me Akin!” I scream. Almost shaking myself into a new dimension. But this was not for Raylene. This was too big for me to entrust it with her.
Once I’d found Akin (who was chatting to his dad for some reason) and notified him of Tiger’s presence and whereabouts, he left me in a cloud of dust. It took us 20 minutes, but we made a sure fire plan to snare her in a world of wooing. We waited around (some might say staked out) until she was on her lonesome. Akin walked towards her and casually ‘recognised’ her from her picture, thus instigating the conversation. Whilst I ran interference with the group she was with, in case they came to find her. I have to say, the plan miraculously seemed to have worked! Email close. Score!
Fresh from our victory, Akin and myself took to the dance floor. With most of D&AD. Grooviness prevailed, with young Katie and Amy showing the world how it’s done to the relaxingly cool sounds of Hot Chip on the decks. I was, to use a term sadly forgotten in most of western civilisation.. Lovin’ it Rav style, losing myself in a world of psychedelic grooves and strong, pounding bass-lines. With my hat stuck firmly over my eyes, I could just about see my feet. As that’s all I needed it wasn’t too much of a problem. Until the hat was tipped off my head by some denim-clad, Mariah Carey loving cowboy! He was dancing around me as the crowd dispersed to form a small circle around the two of us. I was looking around the crowd, wondering what was going on when he suddenly stops dancing. He looks at me and throws his hands up in the air. He wants me to dance. He’s just done his dance, and now he wants me to do it. This is a dance-off! I’ve accidentally got myself into a bloody dance-off! How did I do that? Sadly however, this was no time to consider the actions which got me into this mess, only the ones to get me out. Despite my only competitive dancing experience being during a family holiday to Butlins... there was nothing else for it. I had to dance.
So I darn well got started. I was pulling shapes, shifting pre-conceptions, I dare to say I think I even may have written some poems... some of my best stuff was in this, and it was going.... well. It was actually going pretty damn well. People weren’t laughing. (It’s one better than the Butlins debacle). I didn’t want to wear myself out though. I should save some of the really mind-blowing stuff for round two. So I stopped. I didn’t much fancy attempting that silly hands thing that says ‘C’mon then! Your turn’ so I just hoped he’d get the idea and respect my routine enough to think more was needed from him to win this thing. To this day, I don’t know if he was being cautious or actually thought I was as good as him... or he just wanted to give me a more severe beating, who knows? But he went again... He was serious this time. He was performing things I’d only seen in Fat Boy Slim Videos (The one with Christopher Walken, not that shitty Dance Troupe). And so... sooner than I would have liked, my turn came around again. He was rather aggressive now in his challenge. I was worried if I didn’t lose after this round, he would just call it a day and give me a kicking.
I wasn’t too worried though... I’d simply achieved getting my eye in during the first round. As I said, I’d saved my really tremendous moves for the killer punch anyway. After 5 minutes of these supposedly ‘killer’ moves. The guy still seemed relatively confident. He was smiling! Smiling in a way that was telling me he knew he’d won. I knew if I stopped it there, he would simply claim himself the winner. This wasn’t the World Dance-Off Championships, who would argue? Me? Fuck off. I had to do it.... I had to pull off my BIG move. The move of all moves. This is of course the one where I limbo down to the ground... until my back is straight, still not touching, but about an inch off the ground. Then suddenly jump up straight, flat onto my two feet. But it’s a dangerous move. I’ve never actually managed to complete it in it’s entirety before. I either jump up, and due to alcohol, blood-rush, and a complete lack of style or finesse... make it too far and stumble forwards, or worse not far enough and fall right back down again. Or no-one around me believes it’s a dance move and assumes I’ve just fallen over, thus tries to help me up.
Looking back, it was stupid to even attempt it. There was so much riding on it. But I knew I’d lose if I didn’t. I couldn’t just walk away now. I’d always wonder.... what if? What if that time... was the time. The one chance I had to make dance-off history. I had to go for it. So I went down... good so far... I got to about an inch from the ground... I was wiggling my pelvis like Elvis’ pet snake... luckily the crowd were letting me get on with it. Because they’d actually been watching me, they didn’t assume I’d fallen over. This was it. I couldn’t hold the limbo for much longer, it was jump or die. But no! Something quite unbelievable happened. My denim encrusted nemesis dived on top of me, and proceeded to dry hump me into submission. He stayed there, humping away. Really giving it to me, until he fell off. Now, spread out on the floor (understandably due to the recent man-love), with the fair use of the floor to push against, I managed to get up and flat onto my feet in one fell swoop. Now, albeit I was a little woozy due to the head-rush. But I’m quite certain the crown went wild!
After the excitement of this affair, I sheened myself off to find out how Akin’s continued attempts to get more than an email close from Tiger were going. Sadly I found him by himself, and with news that she had left. He had been dancing the night away with her for the past half hour, so swings and roundabouts. But when asked if he got any farther than an email, his face sunk further than a Jewish child’s on Christmas morn. Sadly not. Oh well, plenty more fish. Like the girl who’d just jumped up on the stage, poured a couple of litres of bottled water down her chest, then leapt back into the crowd, soaking wet. Probably best that fish stay in her own bowl though.
After the party, Sami was adamant everyone go back to Rob’s with her gang. Seeing as it was her last night in London before a 3 month tour of Europe, it was certainly tempting. But alas... numbers were required for the taxi East. Besides, as much as I would have loved to spend a few more hours with Sami before she jetted off... I had strong suspicions I would be absolutely no use to anyone, and simply fall right asleep like a narcoleptic watching Newsnight as soon as i arrived.
As it happens... that’s exactly what happened. Only I’m not narcoleptic, and I didn’t need anything like Newsnight, just the back of a taxi. Let this be a warning to you... NEVER fall asleep in the back of a taxi. I learnt this a few years ago after a disturbing image in Leeds. What I saw is too strong even for these LMU pages. Let’s just say it involved a taxi driver, a passed out student girl, and a tube of lube. However I did not heed my own advice, I awoke to find, I had been fucked!
£120!.... £120 from Waterloo to South Woodford! Granted we stopped by Romford on the way, but we weren’t even back in London by the time the meter ticked over to £120, and we flat out refused to pay any more.
Frigging black cabs.
Despite this.... A good night was had by all... especially Holly. Whom after staying at Robs until the wee hours, couldn’t come into work the next day as she was... ‘ill’.