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House Party Review: Stoke Newington

Cans and cannabis in the poshest bit of Hackney.

by Hatti Rex; photos by Luis Kramer
12 December 2019, 1:20pm

Previously: Clapton, east London

WHERE'S THE PARTY?

Stoke Newington, home to one of London's seven Whole Foods, which should tell you everything you need to know. Only, the Whole Foods locals here are Monocle people rather than Tatler people. Stokey's main thoroughfare, Church Street, is a good place to spot French bulldog owners, celebrities who used to live in Dalston and people with iPhone 11s queuing for breakfast.

house party sink
women at house party

THE HOUSE

A two-floor flat just above The Waiting Room, a venue that often hosts gigs in its tiny basement, meaning – hopefully – the neighbours are used to noise.

spilled beer

ROOMS

The main party was happening in a bedroom on the first floor, with a secondary party area in the main bedroom upstairs. One of the bedrooms had a "No Entry" sign, which, miraculously, attendees obeyed. Kitchens are usually the heart and soul of any good house party, but this one was quite tiny and so therefore not fit for purpose. The hosts didn't build the house, though, so I'll let it slide.

toilet

TOILET

This is the only party I've written about with adequate bog roll, so props for that.

house party kitchen

THE GARDEN

Top floor flats famously do not have gardens, but people kept popping downstairs for a cigarette or a desperate gasp of Church Street's low emission air.

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NUMBERS

There seemed to be an entirely new set of guests every hour, so who can truly say. Anywhere from 22 to 40.

old blue last beer

BOOZE

A bathtub full of Old Blue Last beer cans – courtesy of VICE, of course – but nobody had bothered to buy any ice, so they were all room temperature. Not the ideal temperature for what should be a frosty one. Other than that, dribs and drabs of whatever anyone else decided to bring. Some girls who left early forgot to take a bag of Cherry Bs with them, which I necked.

There were also no cups provided, so guests had to wash their own dirty mug from the sink if they did bring refreshments – which made every single drink slightly reminiscent of those house party moments where it gets to 4AM and all the booze has gone and all the shops are shut, so people wind up to drinking the dregs of, like, a six-year-old bottle of Polish paint-cleaner brandy somebody brought back from a stag-do in Warsaw.

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DRESS CODE

There wasn't one, but some guy was wearing the exact same outfit as me, so let's just say it was very specifically: an oversized white shirt under black top with black suit trousers event. Generally, though, it was that oversized second-hand blazer kind of vibe.

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VIBE CHECK

Upon arrival it seemed more like a small gathering in someone's bedroom than a party, not exactly the Friday night energy you want after a long week. A few indie kids passing a spliff around and listening to Nick Cave. That said, it was a leaving party, so I'm guessing people maybe felt a bit sombre? Sarah, the party host, cried a couple of times, as you'd expect from a leaving do. But as the drinks started flowing, everything became a little more chaotic.

One girl bashed into me, spilling my entire drink before muttering something (presumably rude) at me in French. Another girl left crying with her boyfriend approx. one hour in. Two guys got kicked out the party, which started some sort of front door war as people pushed from either side. People were chucking shit out the window. Someone popped a tent open in the upstairs bedroom, which added considerably to the already-heavy Woodstock 2019 energy.

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DRUGS

As far as I was aware: none, aside from the three joints being passed about. One girl left about an hour in, stating, "No bags, no shags," as her reason to bounce – even though one of my mates managed to snog someone approximately 60 seconds in.

I asked a group of attendees whether any uppers were milling around, and someone told me they were promised some off a stranger if they went to the bathroom with them, but then they never delivered the goods. Which seemed really weird? Did they just want their hand holding, or something?

house party dj

MUSIC

The only song I recognised the entire night was the long forgotten "212" by esteemed chicken sacrificer Azealia Banks. Every other track was indie, and honestly it kind of all sounded the same. It wasn't necessarily bad, but you couldn't really throw down unless you were doing it as a gag, and there's objectively nothing less funny than mock-slam dancing to The 1975.

@HattiRex / @kramerdoingbits

Tagged:
Drugs
Booze
House Party Review