The A to Z of the Vauxhall Tavern
C is for Chill-Out
The Sunday afternoon session at the Vauxhall is called a "chill-out" session. What a misnomer. A chill-out session normally runs something like this:

You all emerge from Crash or Trade, saucer-eyed and blinking in the sunlight. Some poor fool mumbles "all back to mine" and you pile into some stranger's car. He drives very carefully and very slowly, jaw working manically. You get back to theirs and they put on a CD - inevitably Cafe Del Mar, Massive Attack or Chilled Euphoria. Everyone flops onto cushions. Someone spends the next 20 minutes trying to roll a joint. Red wine is opened. And spilled on the flokati (oh, yeah, sorry, man).

The ritual phrases are repeated: "blinding set", "we'll always be together, us", "Pete Wardman is like God, man", "top banana!" (some fag hag that no-one will admit to inviting always says that). One strange soul will decide that everyone should eat bacon sarnies, and those brave enough to attempt them will spend 15 minutes chewing one mouthful and then giving up and staring at the food suspiciously, wondering what to do with a half-eaten sarnie, before hiding it down the back of the sofa.

Two people who have just met that evening will declare their love for each other, and they'll curl up, head in lap, stroking what little hair the other has. Eventually they'll make their way upstairs, close the curtains and try to make love, but they won't be able to find their cocks, let alone get hard-ons. But they'll have a really deep and meaningful experience, you know?

Eventually you'll feel "together" enough to ask for directions to the tube, and still later you'll be together enough to understand the directions, and you'll make your wobbly way home, avoiding the eyes of your fellow passengers.

The Vauxhall "Chill-Out" is nothing like that. Yes, many of the guys there have been to Crash or Trade. Or both. But the idea is not to chill out and get your head together. Oh no, quite the opposite...