We Spent Last Night Toasting the End of the World at a US Election Party in London

USA USA USA! AMERICA, FUCK…yeah actually maybe it's not a good time to joke about it, shit has suddenly got a bit too real—but hey, we didn't know that yesterday!

Last night, everything was great, everything was like a sugar coated dream. Perhaps in Britain we should have seen this coming, after we did our own mini-Trump in the shape of Brexit. That said, you'd be forgiven for mistaking the UK for the US lately! You only have to look at how much coverage their absolute circus of an election has enjoyed in our national media to get a feel for how sycophantically obsessed we are with the whole thing. How much coverage do you reckon Brexit got in the States? Fuck all. There was probably a "Dang, those Brits done taken back control," in passing before a "…and now here's Ron with the sports." We, on the other hand, literally hold fucking blow-outs to celebrate their political procedures.

One such fucking blow-out was the Popbitch Election party at Dinerama in Shoreditch. An 8pm till 5am marathon of everything God Blessedly American, where people came together to, basically, get really pissed and watch a load of red and blue bar charts on telly.

Arriving from the outside world—a bitterly cold, rainy outside world at that—into this starred and striped paradise, I was greeted by a free pint of beer and shot. God bless America! There was also a giant game of Trump Jenga and lots and lots of people dressed in the most glorious of flags: the star spangled banner. The mood was buoyant, happy and carefree. And why not? Hillary was going to beat this jerk! Everyone is safe to laugh at Trump, kind of like we've been doing this whole time, because he is laughably ineffectual, so who cares what he does!

Once inside, there were various snaking queues for all the food you could eat, as well as a whole host of wacky and zany election related games. One such game was a "Spin The Wheel" scenario, involving politically inspired prizes and forfeits. I span, oh readers, I span, and landed on Putin, which meant I got a free shot of vodka. Enjoy my incredulous face as I learnt of this fact.

Nostrovia comrades! Anyway, by now the spirit of freedom was heavy in the air. As was the smell of fried meats, vegetables and various types of savoury and sweet dough. But mostly freedom.

Anyway, I really wanted to know why the fuck people were here, in a rainy London shack, to party about another country's election. I spoke to one guy, Johnny, who was with his girlfriend (draped in the kind of all-American garb that'd make Hulk Hogan weep with pride). "I'm just here for my girlfriend to be honest," he said, limply. Oh. Who do you want to win though? "Hillary," he said, again with little enthusiasm. I wanted to spice things up a bit so asked why? What was it about Trump he didn't like?

"Well, Trump is racist." Yeah that's true, but what about the whole sexual assault and misogyny thing, wasn't that a problem as well? "Nah, more just about the racism."

This, as you might imagine, didn't go down too well with his ever exasperated looking girlfriend. My work here was done, he was right in the shit now. I made my excuses and left.

But only as far as these lovely people! Yes, there were lots of people in all types of fancy dress. Obama masks, Trump hats, Hillary wigs. These two lovely dudes were the most popular of all the fancy dressers, and spent pretty much their whole night stopping and posing for people's Instagram pictures. Truly they were doing the lord's work. As you can see, I was getting more and more drunk by this point.

I then bumped into some lovely American ladies who were dressed as suffragettes, which was probably the most on point political insight I'd seen all night. I asked them, why were they voting for Trump?

"Excuse me? Are you serious?"

Okay, no. But seriously, had they voted already?

"Oh yeah, long time ago. Hillary all the way."

Yes, that seemed to be the overwhelming sentiment among the Popbitch clientele. Hillary all the way. In fact, Trump was mainly there that night as a kind of Guy Fawkes-esque effigy for people to mock as he burned on a bonfire of extreme hot-takes.

Excuse me here, I had to go for a quick piss—all those American Pale Ales were really taking their toll on my bladder!

Now it was time to play another spin the wheel game, this time with a Trump whoopie cushion as a prize. I think the idea was that whenever he talked he only spoke in fart noises! That is just brilliant isn't it? Bet if Donald found out about that he'd be furious! He'd say it was a "YUUUUGE DISGRACE" because he says the word "YUUUUGE" a lot. Anyway this time I lost the game of chance, and had to get spanked as a result. Seriously a grown man came up and spanked me, quite hard and everything.

But I'll tell you what was pleasant as a bald man—having a Trump toupee to try on! I found one nestled gently over a "Trumpkin"—a scary Trump pumpkin with his face carved in. Anyway I found it all hilarious, mainly because I'd had some pizza and more shots and beers. I could really see why everyone loved politics so gosh darn much! You'd think that he was just some kind of joke or something really, this Trump guy!

Now it was time to speak to the women you can see in the photo below. I think all told there were a lot more women at the event than men, and the majority of them seemed to be American, which I really should've expected, but there you go. Some things you just don't see coming. I asked why the fuck they were here.

"We work in London," they told me.

Yeah, but if America is so great, why did you come all the way over here, and to this party specifically?

"I really don't know. The weather is terrible. I guess for money? But this party is great. It's so nice to be here with everyone who supports Hillary, it feels really positive."

Positive vibes, as anyone knows, are enough to win an election. This was going to be a walkover for HRC. I was with her. They were with her. We were all with her!

By now I was properly pissed, I literally hadn't stopped drinking shots and pints since I stepped through the door. This party was going on until 5am, but it was barely even two in the morning and I was struggling. I don't know whether it was the cosy embrace of Hillary's impending win, or the fistfuls of fried goods I'd devoured, but all I wanted was to sit down for a bit and rest my eyes. So I did. Somebody, actually somewhat prophetically put a Trump Jenga piece and wedged in my hat. The bastard.

As I closed my eyes I reflected on what had been a funny old night—British and American citizens gathered on a rainy night in Shoreditch to celebrate an election happening on the other side of the world. I also couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved by the sheer levels of confidence in Hillary—it was a fun party, but hadn't the celebrations started a bit prematurely?

At around 4AM somebody nudged me awake.

Fuck.

Tom Usher is on Twitter