So me and my American girl kept hearing about this club called Babylon, which turned out to be one of the most amazing underground clubs I’ve ever been to. Everyone looked gorgeous, with glossy hair, dressed to the nines in edgy designer rags, smouldering with Malboro Lights perched between fingers or in corners of mouths. Dilated pupils and slender limbs danced to the most fantastic house deep music ever, played by the most stunning DJ who I think the whole club was in love with (we certainly were!). It was as though we stumbled across a secret society – the bar tenders all looked straight out of a Jean Paul Gautier advert, in aviator sunglasses and customised waistcoats or sailor suits. The coat check guy was in a leather jacket one night and in full drag complete with bustier and red lipstick the next. I couldn’t work out if I was dreaming or not as the club almost appeared to vaporise the minute we stepped out onto the cobbled streets in the early hours.

[all photos by me, except, obviously, the one of me, looking at me, looking at me...]