The Lord Napier

Rainwater to flush the toilets. Two generators but still no lights. Flooding. No running water.

Must be a party at the Lord Napier.

A darkened, powerless pub. Virtual abandon, Hackney grime and a queue which stretches round the corner. We have been given the opportunity to throw a party - another one - at this astonishing venue. It is pouring, and i mean POURING with rain. Which, it transpires, is fortunate because there is no running water and we have to fill up bins on the roof with rainwater to flush the toilets.

There are two generators, semi-working variously, which means the lights and music rarely work in union. Pitch black fumbling to growling bass, or able to watch your footing on the unsteady, sodden floor with a backdrop of chatter about what's going on with the tunes. The front room and the back room seem to switch allegiance to the silence. The back room is where the filth is at.

This makes for a party not for the FAINT HEARTED. Try your best, ruin your shoes, jostle your way round the dank rooms, feel your way along the corridor, hold your hands out in front of you to realise there is some shadowy figure right up in your face.

Dance motherfuckers. Dance.