But if you're the manager who faces croaky telephone apologies at the start of the working week, legendary London Nightclub Home are not making things any easier for you. Friday mornings have now become the latest non-deliberate duvet time. With a minute 5 door tax and Vodka-redbulls denting just 2 you wouldn't be blamed for dubbing High Rise as Home's 'student night'. But looking around the trendy turn out, the absence of requests for 'Dancing Queen' or 'Club Tropicana' would prove otherwise. Nor have I ever stumbled into a uni-night lager fest to see the likes of Jon Carter or GrooveRider dignifying the ones and two's.
Home is a club that defies the word plush.
The club is filled with intimate details, Ikea defying furniture and enough gadgets to excite Bill Gates to orgasm. Scattered mini TV's allow inquisitive bar-proppers to snoop on the dance floors of other levels while the men's urinals consist of huge slanted sheets of glass. Although the three quarter balcony of the auditorium is out of bounds, the remaining three floors of sound provide more than enough space for the get-together. Thursday resident Jason Bye can do no wrong, even when faced with a 5-hour vinyl shift. The dance floor has tidy acoustics assisted by hanging speakers, perfect for when Mr Bye crosses in 'Not everybody understands house music.'.