itchy burning rash of hatred

I am suffering from some kind of allergic reaction. Unsure as yet to what, but my whole body is covered in an itchy, burning, red rash which is, I'll be honest, not the most attractive thing I've ever had covering my body. It's been present since Thursday evening (Lucy did eventually get fed, and also gave me an antihistamine, because she's lovely), so I spent the day on Friday googling various types of rashes rather than taking the more sensible action of registering with a doctor. I therefore spent Friday evening asking bf and friend every five minutes whether I was developing a 'saddleshaped' rash over the bridge of my nose, as apparently that means I have lupus. I know it was silly. It's never lupus.*

72 hours(ish) later and little has changed. Very nice pharmacy man gave me a cream and some tablets when I crossed over the snow on the Saturday, near to tears because of my sudden leper status, and raised my jumper screaming, 'Look! Look! The horror!!' in the manner of a cast member from the Crucible. Sadly, although it's helped a little, much of my skin still looks like I've been rolling in nettles.

In spite of my plight, I made it to a friend's birthday party on Saturday night for a whole hour. That may not sound like much, but just try being inside On anon (Piccadilly Circus bar/nightclub) while a) not being able to drink and b) itching all over and c) well, just being in there is pretty much a negative letter all on its own. What a strange place. The music is both appalling and really, really loud. Everyone is wankered because it is the only way to survive and there's nothing else to do - there's no way to talk over the music. By 10pm most of the women in the place had fallen off their high heels at least once and the vibe of, 'right, we've all drunk enough now - whose body is nearest?' was really taking off. The odd thing is, my friend who had insisted on this place doesn't drink. She likes these places. Sober. She likes them. I realise increasingly, the older I get, that not only do I hate loud, expensive, bad musicy bars, but I have never liked them. In order to survive them, I drink more. This is a fairly common thing - most people probably know by now that loud music makes people drink more - it's why bars do it. There are research papers on this - have a google and see. It seems, with the exception of my friend (who is, bless her, extremely strange, while utterly lovely), most people may not like loud places where they can't talk. Being sober in places such as these doesn't usually happen to me - I'd grab the nearest drink or leave - so being forced to stay for a bit and watch was actually quite scary as alcohol, or rather, money made from alcohol, was so clearly the driving force. Surely there's something wrong with a culture where this is a normal Saturday night out in a capital?

I know - you don't have to go to them - but it seems sad to me that my choices, and my friends' choices, on Saturday night are quite limited by most of the mainstream clubs being a bit offensive. If you don't want to spend £50 on drinks just to manage to stay in there, it's basically pub, houseparty, dinnerparty rather than clubs. We need somewhere to go out and dance with good, live music, or good, not massively overrated djs, drinks which don't cost £7.50 per cheap vodka cocktail, where you don't have to be on drugs (Fabrik, I'm talking to you. On both counts) and where if someone is vomiting over the dancefloor, they are gently removed. Fulfilling all of those conditions just isn't easy in London - pay lots of money and you get class, but try to find somewhere where making money is not the obviously driving factor, and you're a bit screwed. I didn't realise how generally icky it is until I went to Berlin. The clubs there are fantastic - there is a genuine spirit and life there - a sort of decadence (raw spirit?), that just seems to be buried under lumpen alcohol consumption in the UK.

Anyway. Rant over. I'm probably just getting old. And increasingly itchy. For god's sake. I just clicked on Wanda to see what words of wisdom she may have for an allergy sufferer and the following popped up:


So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage leaf to make an apple pie;
and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street pops its head
into the shop. "What! no soap?" So he died, and she very imprudently
married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Grand
Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all
fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran
out at the heels of their boots.
-- Samuel Foote

Well, bugger you Wanda.

*anyone who hasn't watched House and therefore doesn't get the reference - go and watch it. Especially if you're a girl and so far unaware of quite how sexy Hugh Laurie (yes, really!) is capable of becoming.