Trigger warning: Strong Language, Sexual Content
Time to go balls-deep into the nitty-gritty of London's gay club scene, and let me tell ya, it's a wild ride. I hit up two of the hottest spots in town – Roast at Electrowerkz and BeefMince at The Clapham Grand over the bank holiday weekend, here's the T.
Let's kick things off with Roast. It's Saturday night, and after queuing in the rain for an hour to get through security, providing the mandatory photo ID, and handing my clothes to a helpful cloakroom attendant - I'm stood in a harness and underwear in an absolutely rammed Electrowerkz.
The promised bears, cubs, and chubs are not as plentiful as the flashy Insta marketing would have you believe.
It's more aged Twinks, Twunks, and looks-obsessed muscle bears and otters as far as the eye can see. The place is packed tighter than Hung4Hung's jockstrap, and smells almost as bad.
With DJs blasting beats across five rooms, on the face of it the night should be epic...
Hold up though, it ain't all fur and harnesses at Roast. Yeah, the music's decent, and the venue's epic, but fuck me, but there's some serious judgment floating around.
Looks matter here, and if you ain't up to snuff, you might wish you were invisible, because the judgmental sneers and hurtful jibes are brutally part of this scene.
Roast is the reincarnation of a 90's Circuit Party - and what's a Circuit Party without a little chemical help?
I swear, you couldn't swing a glow stick without hitting someone getting off their face. I was offered MDMA, Coke, E, and various other 'treats' within moments of stepping into the club. And the staff? They're turning a blind eye faster than you can say "DTF." I watched a cleaner stand by while a lad did a line of Coke in the doorless toilet cubical. The darkroom is genuinely huge. It was also the busiest darkroom I have ever seen - at one point in the early hours, there was a line about 30 people deep waiting their turn to get in and once in it was shoulder to shoulder with naked, sweaty bodies and filled with the smell of sex.
To Roast's credit they had very clear expectations of behaviour and were explicit on what constitutes consent, including ongoing consent. (That makes it more ironic that a guy shot his load across my chest without asking! Let's assume friendly fire eh mate?) Roast attempted to encourage safer sex too, offering free condoms and lube. (Unlike most of the clientele the up-take on the former was not high.) Inside were the usual scenes - just bigger, sweatier, and seedier. Raging boners, gapping arseholes, bobbing heads. It's the smell though, that hits you; a mix of sweaty bodies, poppers and cum. All great so far. But there's another familiar, if fouler aroma - shit. Not everyone was as 'prepared' as they thought they were. Accidents happen, remember:
When you go digging for gold you gotta be prepared to get muddy.
But wiping and washing your shit-dick in the hand basin of the toilets, and leaving the soiled toilet paper next to the hand-soap is grim behaviour by any standards - and that mess being ignored by the staff for the rest of the night was a decent enough representation of the evening. Drugs, judgmental party goers, and anal accidents aside, I'm glad I went to Roast. It doesn't live up to it's own hype and there's a heap of issues - not least the toxic masculinity and shaming our fem friends.
The night ended on a particularly sour point when I was robbed outside the club, nothing that Roast could prevent, but beware thieves are targeting late night revellers in the area.
Overall it was a decent event but I'm in no rush to go back.
Now, BeefMince – Picture The Clapham Grand on a Sunday for a Bank Holiday edition. It's a melting pot of bearish hotties, beards, cubs, chubs, along with some glittering gays that literally sparlked - the vibe is electric, such fun. The venue's legit, with friendly bar staff and tight security, all gendered toilets and a genuiely inclusive feel. The music was great too. Plus, those go-go dancers? They're working it harder than a stripper on payday!
BeefMince was simply the better party. Friendly, welcoming, judgment-free dance-fest, no obvious drug issues, although I'm not naive enough to suggest it doesn't go on. It felt safer, more fun, less seedy and more wholesome - people confident in their bodies and skin dancing the night away - and making out with some hotties on the dance floor if they were lucky!
BeefMince was without a dark room, that's kinda unusual for these types of parties, there ain't much action for the frisky folks among us. But honestly, I think it was all the better for it - it was a party night and I had a blast. Having only one room meant that you had to enjoy what the DJ was playing, although there were at least 3 sets over the evening. A smaller venue with less places to explore kept the dance floor full too. Getting to and from the place from across London? Let's just say it's a bit of a mission, especially when you're 12 shots down at 4 AM.
In the end, both Roast and BeefMince have their pros and cons. Whatever you're looking for, there's a spot for you in London's club scene. But if you want my opinion, BeefMince is the better night out.