Square goes to Miami: In Search of the Chocolate Welsh Cake

17 Dec

The room Tom Novy was DJing in was a bit small, and squashed, but there was still enough room for a bit of boogying. A couple of women danced on the bar, and Tom himself even took to dancing on top of the record decks! A great atmosphere in general, although I still felt slightly sad being on my own, and didn’t really talk to many people. I decided since I’d travelled all this way, I should at least get a picture of me and Tom – I didn’t take many other pictures on the trip – and I also spoke to him once he’d finished his set. I made what is technically known as a “schoolboy” by asking him why he didn’t play any of his own tunes. He said that in fact he had, leaving me not knowing quite what to say then. I must admit that since the release of “Nouveau Niveau” which contained “My Body” and his Top 40 successes of the time (which he didn’t play), I haven’t followed his career at all closely.

I spent the last hour or so dancing to funky house in another room, before finally leaving at around 6. I walked for a good half hour, passing many blocks, without seeing a bus, so I decided I’d nip into another all-night bar – here bottles were just $7-$8! – to wait for the buses to start up again. I walked several more blocks, hoping to find the place where my intended bus would be. I encountered a gentleman who told me about Jesus (for a buck). Then, as the sun was rising above the tower blocks, I encountered a blonde temptress who was walking in the same direction as me. We struck up a conversation, and it turned out she’d just come from another of the WMC events. Her name was Carla, and Portuguese, if I remember rightly. And then she said she was staying on a boat. This all sounded too good to be true. However, in true Fisk tradition, I fucked this opportunity right up. We reached the boat (!), but then instead of angling to join her on the boat – the obvious thing to do – I found myself swapping numbers, with the promise of meeting her later!

I then spent a torturous half hour waiting at the nearby bus-stop, wondering what it would be like aboard this boat with this heaven-sent beauty. I finally got back to the hotel, went straight to bed, and woke up at about 2pm. Needless to say, there was now no answer on Carla’s phone. Not to be outdone, I got straight on a bus to the boat…but now the boat was gone! Un, as they say, fucking believeable!

That night, I spent a bit more time with Terry and co. We went to a funfair, which wasn’t much fun. Listened to hip-hop extremely loudly on Terry’s car stereo (Over by Drake was the song of the moment, a couple of months before its UK release). Terry scored some dope, and I had a bit of that. I thought about Karen back home. Despite all the posturing, and the sense that a lot of America is quite fake, I think they still have quite a strong moral sense, so when Terry said I’d been selfish leaving Karen at home, I reflected that he was probably right. Felt a bit homesick.

Terry and the boys were gone the next day – it would be something like a 12 hour drive back to Washington – quite common place in America, it seems. I decided I’d head back over to Downtown Miami, where according to DJ Mag, a 24 hour free party, which included Mr C djing, would still be going on, despite it being a Sunday afternoon. I’m not sure if it was on this bus journey, or possibly an earlier one, but at some point during my trip, while on a bus, I had the Chocolate Welsh Cake Experience.

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