Spotting the long queue of drunk people waiting for the bouncer to pronounce their admittance to the nightclub, I felt that familiar ‘I hate queues’ feeling one gets when one is faced with a queue one has to join.
However, there are not a lot of nightclubs in the world (one, actually) where I can do this, so I did it. I went straight to the front.
At just the same time, a drunk girl intercepted the bouncer’s attention with some garb about her passport and her bicycle. I patiently waited for her slurred words to reach a natural end, feeling the eyes of the queue on me. Then the bouncer turned to me. ‘Tammi’s sister?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I smiled, feeling famous as he moved to one side and invited me in.
See you later queue suckers!
‘Tammi’s sister is on her way,’ the bouncer radioed to his fellow bouncer down the stairs while I sauntered my way inside trying not to show off. (Okay fine. Trying to show off.)
The second bouncer greeted me with equal respect. I was in.
That’s just how I roll at one nightclub in this world. It’s pretty exciting being the sister of the owner. On the rare occasions that I’m in London, I’ll take full advantage and have done for 11 years. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to actually being famous and skipping the queue because of my own merits. I’m riding on her coat tails and I don’t care who knows it.
“That’s just how I roll at one nightclub in this world.”
Ginglik has played host to many happy memories for me over the years. I helped paint the walls before they launched 11 years ago. Tammi then gave me a job behind the bar and I basked in her reflected glory, finding any way I could to crowbar into conversations: ‘I’m Tammi’s sister,’ while taking someone’s order.
It usually went: ‘Can I have three Sambuca’s and a glass of wine?’
‘Sure. I am Tammi’s sister.’
And then either: ‘Who is Tammi?’
Which was terribly disappointing. Or:
‘OH MY GOD! I LOVE TAMMI! I LOVE THIS BAR! THIS IS MY FAVOURITE CLUB IN LONDON!’ And other excited praise, for which I patted myself on the back because Tammi and I share the same gene pool therefore all compliments for her can be given to me.
I pretended I didn’t know who Danny Tourette from the Towers of London was when I had to serve him a drink shortly after his abysmally arrogant stint on Celebrity Big Brother 2007. One point to non-celebs everywhere! I showed him who knows who!
I snogged a boy in the kitchen at the stroke of midnight one New Year’s Eve. That was fun.
I chanted ‘save Ginglik’ at a protest in 2008. Here are my friends Pete and Dave doing protesting faces.
I sock-wrestled a female rugby player at the Ginglik birthday last summer. I lost. But I didn’t know she played rugby, damn her. If I had, I’d have taken on someone I had a chance of winning against.
I did win the egg and spoon race though, yay me. Here I am on my pedestal.
I was once very excited to be front row for Simon Amstell, as I had a pretty dress on and had done my hair, hoping he’d fall as in love with me as I was with him. His opening gambit of: ‘So, I’m a gay Jew,’ put paid to that notion. And I once ran up to Stewart Lee after his Ginglik gig to tell him he was a legend, after the audience nearly got in a fight with itself thanks to his ability to divide the room in two.
This Tuesday, Ginglik played host to the last ever Laugh, the renowned comedy event that has seen the likes of Jimmy Carr, Michael McIntyre, Robin Williams and Al Murray grace the stage. Laugh ended its incredible run with Tony Law, my current fave comedian, compered by Hal Cruttenden. Tony Law was preceded by Chris Turner, a very funny man indeed, who I had never seen before but who I will be seeking out again in future.
I was proud to be there for the final show. It was the end of an era. An era in which my sister wouldn’t let me serve drinks to the comedians while they waited to go on stage for fear I’d make a dick of myself / herself. She’s clever, that sister of mine.
All good things come to an end. Tammi and Colin, her business partner, have made a good club great, loved by near and far. The new owners will no doubt give the place a lick of paint and draw in new crowds. I’m sure it’ll be a hoot. But they won’t let me queue jump, so for me, it’ll never be the same again.