It's 8am and my eyes hurt. I'm knackered, just like I was the night before... before I'd even been out.
I had one of those moments last night, when really it could have gone either way. 11:30pm, standing in your own warm, dry house thinking: "I've been tired for about 15 hours. I've only been home for about two since someone pulled the alarm on the tube in the carriage I was in and everyone cleared out for fear of having their limbs blown off by a suspect rucksack. Clearly the sane thing to do is to walk the four steps to bed and pass the fuck out."
But somehow compulsive insanity prevails and I find myself jumping in the car, slipping in the Slimzee's Rinse Sessions CD ft. Riko Dan and Gift and slicing through dark, damp streets in the car, heading away from sleep and painless eyes, not towards them.
Then I'm on the dancefloor at FWD>>. The Bug smiles his usual smile, Fiddy's getting lairy, Kode's looking standardly chilled, Mala DMZ's meditating deeply, Target passes through, Skepta's shocking out and the German film crew who've been ringing all week have finally showed up.
Tubby is on the decks, Newham Generals are on the mic - and they're busting up the dance.
Tubby rolls with a 10" record box. You'd have to snap a 12" to fit it in there, which says it all really. He draws for a lush selection of grime, straddling that subtle yet crucial feeling/impact divide. Tunes with mad oboes or pitchbent melodies grab the ears; lyrics and b-lines grab the gut.
"Like birds in the sky..." spits D Double. It's going off. Not in a usual FWD>> 'stand around, muted respect for that immense bass weight' kinda going off, but a 'bumbaclaart, lighters in the air, hands in the just don’t care, screaming, shouting blup blup blup draw for that riddim rightnow blud' kinda way.
Tubby's rolling through.
Jammer needs restraining. Sedating even. A straight jacket at the very least, because that way he won't be able to reload 'Request Line' for the sixth time. Yes, no lie, it got licked back five times in Tubby's set and the tune's flippin' 12 months old. "You're trying to start a riot Tubby blud," jokes Footsie as his DJ abandons trying to mix out of it for the fifth time and simply has to put a brand new riddim on before Jammer breaks the needle in half.
So, all in all, fuck sleep. Myman told me it was the cousin of death anyway... spiritual death.