ANALYSIS: Swedes very apologetic:

Is it possible that Swedish songwriters are over-apologetic? Do they apologise more than their fare share? Do they have reason to apologise so much?

Swedes make unquestionably the greatest pop music to grace the latter period of the 20th century and continue to do so today. What do they have to apologise for? Making the rest of the planet feel bad for not being as good at them at it?

Da Buzz and the A*Teens are a couple of the most apologetic groups to stem from Sweden. An analysis of their most lyrically regretful tracks follow:

Da Buzz Sorry Baby

This track was passed on to PopGoesCanberrra by the amazing Fop. It starts with a very sorry "ha-ah aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh." Definitely the kind of self-condemantory noise one makes when they are sorry. A truly shamefacedly brilliant into follows with a soft "sorry sorry" becoming a huge wall-of-sound style "SORRY BABY!", setting the theme for the rest of the track.

The lovely blonde from Da Buzz, we learn, is "lying flat out on my bed" as she ponders how very heavyhearted she feels about the whole situation. She's "thinking about the things" she said. Apparently she went "this time too far." It's all about the usual Swedish misunderstandings, trying to rush things, etc, etc. The chorus arrives with a wollomph of a "SORRY BABY!" She's said some things she didn't mean and it seems that this guy's heart is broken. Snapped in two, perhaps! Oh dear.

It all continues like that right up until the very Da Buzz middle 8 where she asks the guy to forgive her, followed by the computerisedy voices of the Dz Buzz boys. When you hear them, you know things are very serious.

It all ends with a big "SORRY BABY!" How much can one really apologise! All this is a bit too direct, one could criticise, and doesn't really explain why she is sorry, where is she coming from. For that reason, Sorry Baby must come a close second to another track....

A-Teens For All That I Am

Pure guilt-ridden brilliance, but with crystal-clear shades of over-wrought "it's going to be OK" happiness. Add in what sounds like a Swedish Christmas Gay Gospel Choir, a key-change, Britney "Stronger"/"Lucky" style middle-8/chorus bit, and you have an amazingly apologetic pop track.

It all starts off with a few casual crisp "sorry, made you feel sorry"s. But then the story telling starts. You picture the evil A-Teens coming home late to the Swedish summer house. The grumptious mother is standing there in her dressing gown, wondering, do my South American pop scene conquering teenagers really love me? Should I really love them she says? Should I only love the money-making booty shaking bits, or the should I love ALL OF THEM? Even the coming home "bugged me" bits? So really, this song is coming from two points of view, not just the A-Teens' aspect, but the parents'!!!!!!

It gets dramatic. It really does. I'm getting shivers just writing this. It has pretty "I know" and "that I love you" chiming in bits....but that's just the start! There are woooshy bits in the middle of the second verse. You can feel the frustration of the miscommunication that takes place in pubescent Sweden!!!! "What I'm trying to say!" She's trying to say it, but is it getting across? That is the question. Then the pretty, regretful, "deep down" bit, then then the "heat comes down" - this is getting serious. What kind of heat do they experience in Sweden? Climate-wise, nothing severe. This is emotional heat. The A-Teens' parents will be there for them. But these kids feel sooo bad about the way they've treated them, that they are willing to say sorry! And to ASK the parents to continue loving them! Isn't that WONDERFUL??? You won't hear that going on in Ricki-Lee's "Hell No." It's all hate. Hate hate hate.

It doesn't stop there. No. More cheesy sad guitar, some "oooooh-oooh--ooooh " and the choir comes in! A nerve-shimmering "Sorry! Made you feel sorry!" and a repeat of the chorus till the end. It's truly inspirational. The kids voices only just make it. This is desperation. And that's the end. We don't KNOW what happens! The kids grow up into well adjusted adults with their New Arrival, etc, so we can assume that their family lives managed to cope with this drama.

Anyway, the point is, these two "Sorry" tracks are great examples of Swedish apologeticness and there really is never too much apologising in this world.

Canberra's Cock(ington) is Green says Robyn

PopGoesCanberra for the first time welcomes guest writer. She's a full-time servant of the Public, and part-time Swedish Robyn of "Be Mine" and "Show Me Love" fame impersonator.

Oompa Loompa, Oompa-di-doo. Cockington Green, open from Mondays to mini-Mondays, is a wonderful interlude on the Canberra miniature theme park itinerary. ‘Strange,’ I thought, as we wandered past the miniature turnstile in the miniature entry, after paying the not-so-miniature admission fee, ‘This place looks so much smaller than when I was here last...’ Ahh, like sand through the hourglass… Like all those things that were wondrous and normal sized when you were a toddler, now they’re miniature and – strangely camp. I couldn’t help but wonder, as we gazed over the miniature English scene before us, what the bus-load of Chinese tourists who entered before us made of all this miniature stuff. Seems a bit odd, surely, for the nation’s capital to have an English village scene painstakingly reproduced in miniature on its outskirts. And the ‘Australian architectural icons’ in the ‘International’ section. Sounds like a country ready to snap, if you ask me. But, miniature camera poised, I rushed headlong into the Lilliputian world, ready to conquer any miniature obstacles in my path.

The first one was the rather crudely placed sign, surrounded by miniature Australian flags, announcing that the PRIME CAUSE of all damage to Cockington Green was perpetrated by children. While we reeled back in shock at these statistics – otherwise known as THE FACTS – I paused to consider that this miniature world was not, in fact, built with a juvenile clientele in mind. Juvenile in spirit maybe, I thought to myself, as I kicked over a Cornish village and turned to survey the Kentish Oast house. Yes, you read correctly: ‘Oast.’ Built to house oats, according to the miniature signage. No one ever accused the British of having miniature brains, did they? In fact, looking over at all the wee little houses, stuffed with tiny people falling out of the windows in various stages of undress, it suddenly dawned on me why my ancestors decided to emigrate from England in the first place. Too cramped, obviously. Too cosy. Too quaint.

Swiftly maneuvering our way past the miniature bog and miniature housing project, we paused by the miniature British Rail train, marooned half a metre from the local Cockington Green station. ‘Mind the gap,’ I quipped half-drunkenly to myself, taking another tiny gulp from my miniature bottle of Baileys. ‘Look! A bee in a flower,’ shrieked my mother, training her camera on a gigantic insect. Momentarily unaware that the bee was the same size as the animals grazing on the lawn nearby, we crowded around the ordinary spectacle, attracting a large group of Chinese onlookers, recording the event with their minicams. Embarrassed by the attention, I scurried over to the miniature Stonehenge installation, where tiny druids sipped mulled wine and drew truncated straws to see who was sacrificed next. Ritual murder on my mind, I pushed past the infants in blocking my path and tripped up the stairs to decode the mini-maze, trimmed by hand (according to the sign) with nail scissors and tweezers. ‘Shudder to think of the sciatica,’ murmured my mother, grimacing, ‘And the arthritis…the RSI.’ Yes indeed – occupational health and safety – an issue for the miniature theme park workers of the country. What’s their union called, anyway? The miscellaneous miniature model-makers and associated shrunken and sundry workers?

Social commentary is never far from ones mind when traversing Cockington Green – this was all too clear as we paused in front of the ball match, replete with soccer hooligans, streaker and overtures from the Barmy Army on miniature loudspeakers. The fox hunting diorama followed, just around the corner, and we flushed with embarrassment at the scene depicting a black ball-boy scurrying after a shuttlecock on the badminton green. ‘Not to worry,’ we cheered ourselves, ‘the International section is over yonder.’ And there it was: enough bonsai trees to make Mr Miyagi snap his chopsticks in excitement. I couldn’t help but pluck out the camera and capture the scenes before me: a diminutive Slovenian farmhouse, miniature Croatian castle, tiny Lithuanian village. ‘Present this to the next Schengen visa rule-making committee,’ I thought to myself, ‘there’s no way they won’t let you in!’ Charming. Simply charming. Tiny trains puffed past, belching tiny clouds of smoke into the atmosphere, and I began to lose all the inhibitions of the EU member states’ installations. Rushing headlong into a made-to-measure Columbian village scene, my dad raised one eyebrow and quipped (loudly) ‘Bet it’s not just coffee they’re harvesting there, eh? More likely a bit of the old marching powder!’ Only to have the slightly dark woman standing behind us sigh loudly and remark (in an obviously Columbian accent – not that I would know) ‘Oh, this scene makes me homesick.’

Cheeks burning, we turned to the more obviously narcotically inspired Inca temple, the Bhuddist worshipful installation, and the blatantly offensive South African villa. ‘Good to see that racism has a place in the miniature world,’ I thought to myself, and made a mental note for my future memoirs: ‘Cockington Green combines the grimly ironic with the morbidly amusing.’ Yes, that about sums it up. The miniature servings of food in the miniature café followed next, although I note the miniature human at the table next to me produced not-so-miniature shrieks and squeals while I tried to focus on the gift shop. Much to my disgust, the fridge magnet purchased by my father for $4.95 managed to disappear among the tiny (empty) bottles of alcohol in my pocket and I spent the next half hour scrabbling about on my hands and knees in the car park, looking for it. Then ransacking the campervan while my parents looked on in miniature middle-aged bemusement. ‘Some people just don’t get it’ I thought ruefully. And the same goes for Cockington Green. For all the myopic viewing pleasure, I just don’t understand why they don’t butch it up a bit. Sideline the St Mary Mead diorama, I reckon, it’s time to step it up a notch. For my part, I’d like to suggest a miniature Pine Gap military installation, or a miniature Lucas Heights nuclear reactor. Hell – let’s go with a miniature LNG refinery – just to show the Chinese what we’re all about. A scale model of the Big Banana wouldn’t go astray, either. And a miniature Big Pineapple just for good measure. Dare I say it? A miniature Giant Earthworm? It’s all a bit academic, really, isn’t it? A bit academic.

PopGoesCanberra EXCLUSIVE: Chanel, Tiffani and In-Grid tell ALL on their South Coast hideaway!

EXCLUSIVE: After the revelation on Fop that Chanel Cole, Tiffani Wood and In-Grid have moved in together, CFBGoesPop revealed that not only were they living together, but they were living together in a flat!

Now PopGoesCanberra can reveal that Chanel, Tiffani and In-Grid also have a sublime NSW South Coast GETAWAY. You may have seen its modern, angular design before on the reverse of the A*Teens Teen Spirit album cover. That's right. Chanel, Tiffani and In-Grid's country estate was used by the A*Teens when they visited Australia to take shots for their Teen Spirit album cover. That's not the only connection they have with the Swedish foursome. The A*Teens producers are now leasing the home to the girls in the hope that their inspiration will flow and a new Aussie/Mediterrannean girl group with a Swedish flavour will be formed! But have the hopes instilled in the Swedish pop svengalis' lease agreement reaped rewards? The girls tell all....



Chanel Cole reclines in a sumptuous lounge chair whose creamy tones would not be out of place underneath the ample girth of Maggie Tabberer. She looks out over her homeland, the lush, green Bega Valley. "I love this place. The cheese. The photographics shop. The cows. But now it's a lot more. It's like...I've found my place...with these two girls." She pauses. She has a certain air about her. A freshness that wasn't to be found in any other Idol finalists, nor in the likes of Hayley Aitkin, Brooke McClymont or Hannah of No Relief fame. An originality that would certainly work wonders in a new Australo Swedish "Med" trio.

Tiffani Wood sighs as she stands on the deck that sits high above the shiny grass that Rex Hunt mows once a week. "Rex and I met at the Bega Cup. I saw the fire in his eyes. Maybe it was the devil in his soul. It wasn't love. It was a connection that just said to me, 'You must mow my lawn.' And so he did."



There is a certain bitterness that Tiffani tries to hide, but PopGoesCanberra sees through it. We ask her about the choice to release the crappy rock version of her new single. "It wasn't what I wanted. I wanted the pop version. But it wasn't to be." I can see that tensions still run high, so I let be.



In-Grid comes out on the deck with a Campari and Orange Juice. "The oranges are from western News South Wales, the orchard district, " she notes, in her lilting Italian tones, "...but the Campari is ALL Italian." The girls laugh and giggle together. A touch of tATu? No, these girls are Red Blooded Women, "count backwards five, four, three, two, one" they chime as Rex shouts from below "I'm heading down to Tathra Wharf to catch you sheilas some big ones!" In-Grid runs to the kitchen to prepare a Mediterrannean feast that her mother back home would cook. "I miss my family. My man in his convertible. The coastline. But you know, the Australian lifestyle is not that bad. Not since I met these two." She nods her head in the direction of Chanel and Tiff. How did they meet, I ask In-Grid. "I was tango-ing alone, la la la. And then they joined in." What simplicity. She returns to her olive de-pipping and sun-dried tomato drying.

While the aperitifs are pleasant and the laughter convivial, I know there is something these girls are hiding.

"So, tell me about the music..."

Silence befalls the open-plan lounge as the lights of Bega sparkle in the distance. I can almost hear cow-bells, but cows in Australia don't wear bells.



Tiffani takes charge, as she often does. "It's scary you know. Knowing you have the next big thing in the palm of your very hands. But it's a dream excitin', and it's over ridin'." Chanel motions with her hands and her bosom bounces as she smiles excitedly. "When Daniel and I are making love on a deserted South Coast beach, I feel just...amazing. And that's the same way I feel when we're working in our studio. Making amazing pop. Think Da Buzz. Think In-Grid's previous work. Think Kate Ceberano Love Dimension. Think me on Idol. Think big baby." I laugh. I almost choke on an unshelled pistachio nut. In-Grid cuts in- "Chanel no one is supposed to savoir that we have our very own atelier here in the hills outside Bega." PopGoesCanberra speaks enough French to know that that means that these three ordinary young women are working on the most extraordinary of projects. The fusion of three art-forms. Think Chanel Cole meets Tiffani Wood meets In-Grid. In my head, as these girls bouffe their antipasto feast along with Rex's fresh snapper Napoli style, I try to fathom ways to think what these girls' musical style will be like. Swedish-Australian-French/Italian. Robyn + Kylie + Johnny Halliday? Alcazar + Missy Higgins + Gigi d'Agostino? I have a feeling that the sum will be greater than its parts.

A light knocking can be heard at the door. I feel this may be my cue to exit. I pick up my things to leave, overwhelmed at the possibilities that await the Australian recording industry. A renaissance!

Chanel answers and greets a familiar looking face. It's Shirley Clamp! Shirley and I last saw each other in Stockholm at a Christmas party, fresh off the stage. So much has happened since then, the terrible loss of Att Alska Dig at Melodifestivalen, and a career and climate change, doing the weather and kids TV for Prime in country New South Wales. "Hej" she manages to exclaim in delight, shocked from seeing me at her friends' pad. "How do you ladeez know each other?" I ask. "She's doing backing vocals for our album" they chime as they kiss, Mediterranean style of course. They don't even notice as I slip out the door, my heat beating like a drum. Dam Dam Dam.

"The Bill" Webpage review

If you are a fan of The Bill, then this webpage is a must visit. Just read what the site's creator writes about it!

THE BILL IS THE BEST AND THIS WHY I AM MAKIN A HOME PAGE FOR THE BILL I HOPE YA ALL ENJOY MY HOME PAGE AND I HOPE YA WILL SIGN MI GEST BOOK THANKS FOR LOOKIN AT MY WEB PAGE BYE

www.matmice.com/ home/thebillthebest

Pop meets Canberra Ice Skating: Friday Night Video Disco Review at Phillip Ice Skating Centre

After being ripped off (nothing unusual) by the ACTION bus driver on the no. 38 service to Woden, I stepped off into Canberra suburban teenage hell: the Woden Plaza and Bus Interchange. Greeting me were a gang of unruly youths smoking beside an overturned shopping trolley. Next up was a fat young girl eating fast food while walking beside her ugly boyfriend. I looked ahead to the bright lights of Hoyts Cinemas, McDonalds, et. al. I heard my name called - the friends who I had gone to meet were there. As they had not eaten dinner, I was required to do the unthinkable. That is, frequent the Woden Plaza Food Court.

Woden under construction in 1968. Doesn't look much better now.


It was packed. Is this the best that people can do for a Friday night meal? There were hideous teenagers posing everywhere. Don't they realise just how gross this place is? It's like Fountaingate Shopping Centre without the amusingness of Kath and Kim to roam about with Kylie and Dannii Bolton throwing a bit of chaos into the mix.



Finally we escaped and were on our way to the Phillip Ice Skating Rink.



It also serves as an outdoor swimming complex in the summer. There were more gangs of teenagers outside. I said "why don't they go inside and skate, rather than standing around on the steps?". My friend served up the pearl of wisdom, "they are waiting for their friends." Indeed. On closer inspection, these teenagers were of the rather inocuous 12 and 13 year old churchyouthgroup species, rather than the evil 15 and 16 year old Iwanttocausetrouble species.

Despite this being called Friday night Video Disco, I was fully prepared for an onslaught of "So Fresh The Hits of Autumn 2005" or something in that style, you know, shit like Usher, 50 Cent, Linkin Park, Nitty, etc. And I was right to be prepared, for that is what was offered. Not a disco beat in sight for the first hour. The closest I got to disco while developing blisters on my left foot was singing along to Sarah Connor's "Bounce", my favourite lyric being "I called your pager and your 2-way boy but no repsonse/start looking and I found you in some other woman's arms". I was the only one who knew the words, surprisingly. It seemed to me that these kids just don't seem to like music any more. Even the crap songs that you think they'd love, you didn't see any young girls screaming "oh i love this song" or anyone (besides me) mouthing along to the lyrics of anything, not even Anthony Callea or Delta's Out of the Blue (which I must admit both sound GREAT at the ice rink).

Finally Michael Gray's "The Weekend" was served up and disco arrived for three or four short songs. A highlight was Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone." What a great track, you can just tell a Swede had a hand in that one.

Now, to the ice. It was choppy and it looked like they were about to smooth it out with their big machine, but then...they didn't. Cue me falling and gtting all wet.

Meanwhile there were the skaters. Every ice rink in Australia has about two of these. Kids who can really skate. There was a slutty looking girl showing off her skills, looking all of 14 years old and attempting to lure every male with her backward skating.

Then there was the ridiculously cute brilliant skater 14 year old dark handsome rosy cheeks bright eyes big muscles Canadian looking little jacket wearing then taking off to black singlet top beautiful boy skater who everyone secretly or not so secretly envied deliriously. Why can't I be him? Or at least be his "friend." Not fair! Bet he doesn't know Bodies Without Organs though. Suck on that.

This Canberra Ice Skater, I discovered through Google, is very keen on Mandy Moore and Dawson's Creek. Good on you mate!


All up, my score? Ice skating keeps you young and in touch with the youth while doing some moderately strenous and embarassing exercise. Seven out of Ten.

Bodies Without Organs "Prototype" Review

We promised a review of this after a more thorough listening, so here it is.

And boy have we listened. BWO has been ROCKING the streets of Canberra. "Rocking the boat" on Lake Burley Griffin if one wanted to be witty,



and "burning the tarmac at Canberra International Airport."



Kicking off the album is Sixteen Tons of Hardware. The best bit is obviously the ABBA reference and the acapella(ish) bit near the end that sounds bloody powerful. This song is about sex.



Conquering America is next. Probably the best song of 2004, it references Kylie Minogue, and American men who chew gum and smoke cigarettes, IN FRENCH! Perfection.

Next track is Son of a Gun. This is bloody awesome track. The best line is of course "And he fights like a son of a gun/son of a gun/aah aah/oh oh oh oh oh oh/son of a gun". Pure brilliance. The "aah aah" is orgasmic. I have no idea what a "son of a gun" is, but whenever I think someone is great, that they can walk the walk, then I tell them they are a "son of a gun." Even if they are a girl.

Open Door is next. It's grown on me. And what a great video!

But I've just got to get to Walking the Night. Who else but Alexander Bard would put in a lyric like "Planting my seed under street lights/cause passion is the root to my groove." That incidentally is one of the best bits of the song too.

Voodoo Magic is genius, especially "oh ooooh" and "You must have been the angel/who lost the grace of God/cos I can't stop repeating/your sweet hymn on my iPod."

Sunshine in the Rain is ridiculously catchy, particularly the terribly chirpy "When I'm in Berlin you're off to London/When I'm in New York you're doing Rome."

Riding Through the Night is my current FAVE. It's so DRAMATIC. "Rain! Thunder rolls! Pain! The night is cold!" And they name check themselves! Perfection!



Say I Love You is almost too dramatic. If Swedish Glamour was an Official Religion, then this track, and Alcazar's Dance with the DJ are its principal hymns.


Rhythm Divine - skip. Sounds like Ace of Base had diarrohea.

European Psycho - brilliant lyrics, crap song.

Living in a Fantasy - it references brilliant sunken liners, astrology, frosty weather and the important issue of global warming! Gotta love it!

Gone! What a load of dog's bottoms! It's still Bodies Without Organs though isn't it!

Liner notes - brilliant.

Choice of DVDs in the Big Brother Reward Room

Do the producers of Big Brother, as well as the contestants themselves, have some kind of movie choice impediment? Because Kate and Michelle just went in to the Rewards room and have been inspecting their choice of DVDs to watch. The titles she reels off as she flicks through the cases reads like a who's who of awful movies...."Oh look at all the DVDs! BRAVEHEART! Electra! Daredevil! Alien vs Predator! Dodgeball! [admittedly that is quite a funny one] That awful disaster movie whose name I can't remember [that's me who can't remember]" and get this, Kate then goes "BRILLIANT BRILLIANT BRILLIANT BRILLIANT BRILLIANT." Ever heard of a decent movie, like Muriel's Wedding? Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amelie Poulain? Dancer in the Dark? Love Actually? American Beauty? Debbie Does Dallas?


They're just movies OK? Now get into that rose petal filled bath!

Cafe Review: Cafe Essen

When I arrived in Canberra, everyone seemed to say "let's go to Cafe Essen, it's really cool." And it's in a rather busy little cafe area, and always seemed to have loads of people, so I've given it a bit of a chance. But what a heap of crap! Seriously.

Experience 1

Invited by a friend, we were sitting outside. From my memory:
- The water they gave us had little floatie bits in it
- Scruffy looking boy smoked in my face
- Uncomfortable metal chairs



Experience 2

This time we were sitting inside, but by the window. It was rather busy. The water had not floatie bits in it. A plus! Then the downsides:

- Hoping for loads of beautiful people at this place is a mistake. The place is fully of scruffy leftie types, like young Tims off Big Brother 5. Why can't the lefties there be good looking, clean ones, like Fop?
- They were all smoking. The worse one was a table full of them. Gawd they were ugly. I think they were Star Wars fans as they all looked very disparate but similar. They had some kind of box with a Darth Vader reference on it. There was a guy, I didn't see his face, but I assumed he was ugly, because he had icky black hair, with red at the front and looked pasty and was smoking clouds of disgustingness over the whole place. Other patrons were getting pissed off. I just coughed very loudly to draw attention to the issue. My coffee companion was suitably embarassed :)




- I spotted a couple of things on the menu that I liked the look of, namely the New York Cheesecake and the Cherry Ripe Tart. When I asked about them the waitress acted like she hadn't heard of them and as though I was an idiot for suggesting they would ever have such things at Cafe Essen, despite the fact they're on the menu. She then went on some kind of rant to the other staff members "why does Chris put those on there bla bla bla" Yes, blame this faceless "Chris"!



Anyway we had the Blueberry and Ricotta Cheesecake, and admittedly, it was very good.

My dining companion made a very pertinent comment as we were leaving. "You would think that these "alternative" people who "care" so much about humanity etc wouldn't smoke, wouldn't you."

The trip to Civic was topped off by the usual bus trip, pleasant up to the point where the usual "Canberra bus traveller" gets on and stinks like fucking awfulness. I mean for fucks sake, they all smell the same. Like cigarette smoke, mixed with unwashedness, unwashed clothes, unwashed hair, and general stinkiness. It's very difficult to describe, other than that it's smoky and it's stifling. Get a peg if you want to travel on a bus. The older buses have no ventilation, and if you attempt to open a window, some cool dude will shut it. Excuse the rant.

Remembering: AlleyCat

I used to love this game so much when I was 6 years old. I particularly loved the bit where the cat has to swim around in the bowl with the electric eels. I never understood how to eat the food from the dog bowls until many years later. The dogs ALWAYS attacked me, the noise from the tiny speaker in my IBM compatible computer armed with MS DOS always scared the SHIT out of me!

Party Review: Cops and Robbers

A few weeks ago PopGoesCanberra attended a Cops and Robbers party.



Because PopGoesCanberra was too lazy-arsed to go to any trouble to get all dressed up for the party, we wrote a badge for ourselves saying that we were a "male prostitute working an illegal brothel on a boat on Lake Burley Griffin." This is an extremely witty reference to mid-90s soapie, Pacific Drive. The lowly people at the party didn't really notice it. They missed out.



Then night proceeded in a hot and sweaty fashion. Lots of people in a small space, an extreme lack of food and music, but plenty of drink, which I don't feel like drinking. Didn't feel like getting red wine tipped all over me by a silly TART either, so I left. The end.