Lady G cocktails slip right down your throat and deposit a honey-sweet after-taste, leaving you with a precise need to go back for more. Over and over. Again and again. I slurped on Lady G, draining every last drop from her. Eagerly devouring her. Banging bars and demanding more. Licking the rim. Trickles of warm, tasty goodness at times escaping my mouth and dribbling down my chin, inviting me to use the tip of my tongue to slowly lap up the escapee juice. Mmm. Lady G cocktails taste so fucking good.

I also drank a load of Heineken, double vodka Red Bulls and occasional wine.

- Where, Tonka?

- On the media boat.

- Which media boat?

- The one next to the London Eye on Thursday night for the Red Bull Revolutions in Sound Channel 4 TV and internet extravaganza which I was cordially invited to by all of my showbiz friends from the world of dance music.

The London Eye is a big metal wheel on the banks of the River Thames fringed with see-through capsules that are usually filled with fat old German blokes, Italian students and people who work on it. Thanks to the Red Bull Music Academy, for one night only it was to be manned and womanned by DJs, punters, broadsheet and tabloid journalists, wankers, competition winners, me and people who work on it. I left Waterloo behind at six o'clock sharp and walked briskly towards the South Bank with the encouraging message of My 1st Song by Jay Z in my head phones. Stay busy. Stay working. Stay hungry. Stay humble. Know what I mean?

After boarding the boat I was wrapped in two paper wristbands: an orange one with a trendy hashtag on it and a white one, Twice as Nice 11. A young lady whose name I didn't believe told me that I was to "board the wheel" at 1915, the bar was "over there" and that it was "free". Off I popped for a couple of Lady G cocktails and a lager. I had an hour to kill so I settled down next to a different young lady and banged on about what a great writer I am without even offering to get her a drink!

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp.

Up came the stairs for a wristband was a young man I'd, regrettably, had a long standing #beef with on www.twitter.com; Funster out of Mixmag. Here's a photograph taken after we'd shared a drink, a handshake and a chat about life. He said I was actually a nice person, and I say the same back in print, despite out-bantering him ten nil and not understanding much of his lingo. #youth #slang

At 1910 I was told to come back in ten minutes as there was a delay on boardings. After getting another beer and chatting with a lovely young man from The Times I returned to the Eye and queued up for a bit. Up I queued. I was half pissed now and smiling at everyone. Halfway up the ramp, flanked by everyone else, I felt the first pangs of a heavy pull on my bladder. By the time I got to the boarding area I was absolutely fucking busting.

- What number, love?

- Eleven.

- That's gone.

I was ushered towards the exit so I went back to the boat for a slash and another drink. After smashing through the boat's front door, the Red Bull executives saw that I was not on the pod and panic spread. An order was sent to the accreditation team to radio back to the wheel and demand that access to the Twice as Nice pod for the second revolution is granted. This was, in their words, mission critical. How the fuck I ended up on the Boiler Room capsule is anyone's guess. After queueing up for a second time I wasn't even asked to show my wristband when I got to the front and I strutted straight onto the first pod that arrived.

A young lady offered me a bottle of Heineken. I took my coat off, squeezed it over the back of the hand rail and pushed my way to the decks area so I could be on the telly. As the mechanics cranked and we were all hauled into the air, Loefah and Lil Silva played track after track of great dance music with occasional hoots and hollers from the people on the microphone. Beat after beat after beat was great, the crowd was great and even the bass lines were great! We were so high up. I pushed my nose against a window and looked up and down the river. It occurred to me that if I'd boarded Twice as Nice when I was supposed to, everyone in the capsule would have been dancing in a pool of piss. Life always works out great for me. Out across the city I stared and smiled. Big Ben winked at me, St Paul's Cathedral nodded it's dome and that chimney stack on the Tate Modern told me to fuck off and get back to the party. I grabbed another lager and put my arm around Thris Tian's shoulder.

- Not a bad life is it, mate? I screamed.

- No, mate.

- Did you see that Ben Klock video?

- Yeah.

- Did you like it? I slurred.

- Yeah, yeah. It's funny, he replied in the least convincing way possible.

I left him alone, wondering if he'd seen the Boys Noize one, and clambered on top of the bench for a dance. We were on the decline and I thought this might be my last chance to dance on the bench of a London Eye capsule with a beer in my hand. I peeped into the ear of a nearby young lady that I'd never heard of Loefah or Lil Silva but I'll probably Google them when I get home. One thing I will note is that Loefah is the only DJ in the world who I wouldn't pick a fight on - he looks like he would definitely fucking batter me. Lil Silva, on the other hand, is a lovely looking young man who I could well imagine being extremely polite in conversation.

The atmosphere in the capsule was electric. When Loefah played the Phats and Small/Outhere Brothers mash-up of that Nightcrawlers track with the Kym Sims acapella laced over the top of it, the entire airborne collection of excited revellers exploded in an explosion of dance and great delight.

I danced all the way down to the bottom and even did a little jig as I left the pod with my coat under my arm. I bowled down the ramp in the cold, quickly putting my coat on, and jumped back on the boat to join all of my new found media chums for some more drinks, top-class banter and a couple of burritos.

Skream was playing upstairs and everywhere you looked was a superstar DJ. Danny Rampling standing on his own in what looked like a denim waistcoat, Todd Terry towering over a couple of smaller fans, Goldie, Skream playing records in a DJ booth and Andy Daniell fending off autograph hunters at the top of the stairwell. I strode over, rescued him and we talked about how every single Defected track has a vocal on. That, I remember.

Typically, we were papped. I hate the News of the World.

Red Bull Revolutions in Sound was a resounding success. I'm glad that I went and if they ever do another one I hope to be invited back.

Red Bull Revolutions in Sound

I'll be back next week with more news, reviews, interviews, clues, blues, Remix of the Week, the very first ever WRDM podcast and OTHER stuff for OTHER websites.

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