Drink, Pray, Love at the Church

Challenge 3: Explore & wander 
Challenge 4: Introduce yourself to everyone
Bonus: The London Bucket List

Making friends

As my time in London is rapidly coming to an end, I have created a bit of a bucket list of things I want to do before my impending departure. Yesterday I ticked off one of London's 'must do' events for an Aussie passing through: The Church. I had heard mixed things about this notorious even that runs on a Sunday afternoon, ranging from 'it's amazing' to 'it's an experience' to 'there's bad, and then there's The Church'. All I really knew was that people get dressed up and go to have a good time on a Sunday while praying that their hangover is bearable the next day at work. For anybody considering going or for those who are just curious about what goes on, the website provides very little assistance. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to create a list of "frequently asked questions" and answers based on my chaotic four hours there.

Where does The Church take place?
The Church has recently moved from Clapham to Elephant and Castle, apparently it's 10th venue due to the unruly nature of the event. This doesn't shock me as I had heard stories about people getting to the door, vomiting on the bouncer and then still being granted entry. Upon entry you are required to go through a metal detector before having your bags checked and if you're really lucky, like the girls in front of me were, frisked by security. Once you are inside the venue you will be faced with a raised bar that overlooks a large concrete dance floor and stage, reminiscent of the former Famous nightclub in Melbourne. Classy.

Do you have to dress up?
No, you don't have to dress up but it's very much frowned upon if you don't. Donned in our matching baseball player outfits my friend and I fit right in amongst the power rangers, cowboys, animal onsesies and cross dressers that strut their stuff on the dance floor. Let's be honest, dressing up provides an opportunity to spark conversation with your fellow revellers too. For example, if I hear the words "I like your hat" one more time I'm probably going to scream. I was literally fighting off random men just to keep my plain white H&M cap on my head (I know you bought it to keep me sun smart Dad, but turns out it's just a dude magnet).

Do they accept credit and debit cards at The Church?
No, the bar staff deal exclusively in cash. It adds to the sophisticated feeling you get when they place your Smirnoff Ice or Fosters, which you buy in bulk, into a plastic bag so that you can easily carry it with you on the dance floor. As if that wasn't thoughtful enough, you're also provided with a bottle opener on the end of a lanyard for your convenience. However, if you're strapped for cash like everyone else in London, I highly recommend doing a champagne/vodka breakfast at home like we did, just to get you in the mood. Sure, you feel like an alcoholic drinking at 10:30 on a Sunday morning, but this isn't your average Sunday session.

Will there be entertainment?
Oh yes, absolutely. Don't let the information on the website fool you. While they inform you there will be cracking tunes and a comedian, only half of that statement is correct. I did thoroughly enjoy dancing to some classic 80s anthems but when they say comedian, they actually mean there's an MC who cracks a few jokes while introducing the strippers. Yep, strippers. We're not talking talented Magic Mike style strippers either. There was a lovely young lady by the name of Stephanie who did a delightful routine to Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend while removing her clothing and dancing with some large feathered fans. I don't really understand what the fans were for as they didn't cover anything by the end of the routine. I'd love to say I kept my cool during the performance but the truth is I wasn't sure where to look and the nice girl in me kept wondering how many more performances she had to do before she had enough money for med school. As if Stephanie wasn't traumatising enough then came the male stripper. I can't remember his name but I'm pretty sure it was Tyrone or something along those lines. To cut to the chase I was convinced Tyrone had something stuffed down his pants to make himself seem well endowed, however I discovered this wasn't the case when he removed his towel and began to helicopter his junk around. I knew exactly where to look this time, straight into my hands which covered my eyes while I screamed like a little school girl.

Is The Church only for Australians?
No, The Church is a mecca for a variety of backpackers and expats from Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Ireland, America and France just to name a few. There was even the occasional Brit there. Really, it's an excellent opportunity to meet new people and become more knowledgable about the variety of cultures that can be found in this wonderful city. It's a place where amongst the cans, bottles and bags that swim around your feet, various nationalities come together for a swapping of ideas and saliva. Deals are made (for example, trading hats for kisses) and race and age don't matter (as a young Aussie lad discovered when he become acquainted with a 46 year old). It's really quite lovely when you stop to think about it. Perhaps if the world's governments sorted their issues out over chocolate body paint and made deals involving the odd cheeky pash, the world would be a better place.

Is The Church for me?
I think it takes a special kind of person to stomach The Church. If you're going to go, go with an open mind and be prepared to get your feet dirty. It's probably not the place to be if you're part of a couple as every minute there feels like 'desperate o'clock', and even as a single you'd only ever go once! In short, it's fun to get dressed up and have a dance and a laugh, but if anything my main complaint is there's probably too much class in one place to handle on a regular basis.

The dangers of karaoke

Challenge 2: Karaoke

Mia 'thriving not shining'

As a child I was regaled with stories of how my mother used to steal microphones at social events and belt out Mustang Sally. She was a self-proclaimed and admittedly awful karaoke queen and now every time I hear that song a shiver creeps down my spine. On the weekend I unfortunately discovered that I am in fact my mother's daughter, a filthy microphone hog and I have the scars to prove it.

It had been a running joke that my friend Max and I would one day do karaoke so, as my time in London is rapidly coming to an end we decided there's no time like the present. Despite having taken private singing lessons, being in the school choir from the age of 9 and studying music up until Year 11, the notion of standing in front of people and singing utterly petrifies me. I've always wondered if I'm like one of those poor souls on X Factor who truly believes they can sing but really sound like a cat being strangled. As a result I desired, nay needed, a little dutch courage to get me through the two hour session that we had booked.

As I was running late, there was a quick pre-drinking session at a mate's place, which proved enough to take the edge off. After some vodka the notion of yelling into a mic with a group of friends seemed a tiny bit less daunting, until someone asked, 'Didn't you used to sing at school?' Shit. Had I really mentioned that? Luckily the focus was taken swiftly off my choir girl days when my friend Mia started informing strangers on the train that we were headed to Dime Bar for a spot of karaoke and began and in-depth discussion about which songs she would be choosing. She was adamant that while she may not shine that evening, she would indeed thrive.

And thrive she did. As soon as we were escorted into our little karaoke dungeon, which resembled a sauna with a large screen on the wall, more drinks were ordered and Mia was onto that microphone faster than Max could request Gangnam Style (which he did sing in perfect Korean might I add). We were dancing on couches, the vodka cranberries were going down nicely and after I felt sufficiently tipsy I decided it was time. I had already added one of my favourite shower songs Hit Me With Your Best Shot to the playlist, so when it came on I was ready. Now, what my friends don't know is that I wasn't going to leave this monumental moment up to chance; I had actually had a quick run through of the song using the lyrics off youtube a few nights before. Spot the loser. What I hadn't banked on was that with a little vodka in my system, what I'd anticipated would be simply trying to stay in tune became a full blown performance. I was a woman possessed! There were Mariah Carey hands, there was vibrato, I didn't care what anyone else thought because all of a sudden I was a diva. Another girl who I'd only met once before decided to join in with me and it turned out she could really sing! Brilliant! Someone to duet A Whole New World from Aladdin with me!

I was obviously devastated when our time was up however, I was still overcome by the music. After exiting the booth I decided to duck off to the bathroom which was down some stairs. The combination of too much vodka, very high shoes and bouncing to my own rendition of songs from the Lion King proved too much. With the grace of a baby giraffe, I tumbled straight down the whole flight of stairs and landed by the feet of some poor unsuspecting stranger. I remember thinking at the time 'act sober' and that my hand was stinging a little but I otherwise didn't notice any damage. The following morning I awoke to discover I had scraped skin off the stop of my hand and that my legs were black and blue from the knee down. I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of coming away from singing Hit Me With Your Best Shot looking as though I'd been assaulted.

On Monday the kids had plenty of questions for me about what happened to my hand. I've learnt from my recent obsession with shows like Lie to Me and White Collar that the best lies are the ones where only part of the truth is omitted, so I told the kids that I had fallen down some stairs while wearing very big shoes. One of them told me that it was ok and she understood, after all she had fallen off the swings once. I just nodded and told her they sounded like very similar stories...