Hot, sticky mess

Things got messy last night.

And hot.

And sticky.

And this little Cinderella didn’t tumble into bed until 1.30am …

I went to something called Hot Dub Time Machine.

It was awesome.

You might even say it was bulk fun.

OK, you’d definitely say it was bulk fun between 10pm and 11.30pm.

That was one brilliant, sweaty 90 minutes.

You’re probably thinking WHAT is she talking about?

Sorry, I’m a bit seedy this morning. Too many unidentified drinks in little plastic cups and not enough sleep.

I wrestled myself into unconsciousness around 2am and managed to stay there until 7am. But that’s just not enough at my (middle) age.

(Speaking of age, there was much speculation on the cab ride home as to whether we were the oldest people at Hot Dub … and since I was the oldest person in the cab that means I might have been the oldest person at Hot Dub. Yay.)

Hot Dub Time Machine is “the world’s first travelling dance party.” As the website explains: “Songs are played in “strict” chronological order from 1954 to 2015 with enormous mashed visuals all scratched live from vinyl turntables. ”

It started at 8pm so we decided to be ultra-cool and not get there until 9.15pm. So not ultra-cool.

We wandered into the dark, crowded room and started grooving while wondering why everyone else was just standing around. Possibly because the floor was so sticky they couldn’t move their feet?

photo 1 (11)

At 9.40pm, the DJ shouted out that it was 20 minutes until Hot Dub started. The crowd went wild. Ah, so that’s why no one was dancing. Outre to boogie to the support act.

A countdown flashed up on the screen on stage and things got a bit berserk from then on. Suddenly we were dancing to a mash-up of songs from the 50s … then the 60s … then the 70s … then the 80s … then the 90s …

There was Elvis, there were The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, the Jackson 5, George Michael, Joan Jett …

photo 3 (9)

It was glorious. Especially when the DJ played 99 Luft Ballons and a net attached to the ceiling released 99 red balloons.

I sang and shouted until I was hoarse.

I barely noticed the eight drinks that were progressively spilled down my back by thirsty revellers as they edged through the crowd.

As the 00s hit, popular music and I parted ways. I didn’t recognise a single song for about 10 years and started sliding into a oh-gawd-I’m-so-tired standing coma.

I yearned for my bed and a shower. Especially after someone threw a bottle of bubble mixture all over us.

photo 2 (11)

I’m just not cut out for late-night grooving. And I can’t even blame my age. I’ve been the same since it was legal for me to go to nightclubs. And even when it wasn’t and we sweet-talked our way past the bouncers and up the back stairs of the Gunfighter’s Rest.

My nickname really WAS Cinderella way back then.

But I have very fond memories of 10-11.30pm last night.


So if you wanna put on your boogie shoes and you don’t mind being a hot, sticky mess, get your bootie to Hot Dub.

You’ll have a bulk fun time.

Song of the day: Elvis Presley “A little less conversation”






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