Smithfields: The last stop for Bos Taurus humanus

Smithfields market, opening hours 4am to 12pm, has been distributing dead cow to the city of London for just shy of 400 years. Its the last stop shop for our Bovine friends. But the days of the great cold cut houses have long past and what were once vast caverns of fleshy-distribution are now apartments of extreme gentrification. One of the slaughter houses still does business; opening hours 11pm to 8 am. Fabric moves meat, but this place is for Bos Taurus Humanus. 

On the 20th of March I made a bi monthly pilgrimage to the cathedral of sound. It is the primordial home of the electric drone; its the release of the animal soul. If the pillars of creation had a sound track it would have been put together on an Ableton pad. I was there to see R.Villalobos, a real hero of mine. An export from chilie, Villalobos gets the crowd heaving like no other. On Saturday, Fabric was rammed, you couldn't move for all the human down there. And, with the base thumping beat on the Body motion sound system my oils were flowing.

My Best friend and his Girlfriend were two of my companions for the evening, and you couldn't find a better pair; the best pair. I was chewing up the dance floor beside them for much of evening. I stopped a robbery too, or at least the attempt. Some snake of a human slithered up and tried to steal, said Girlfriends hand bag. What a disgrace. Some people have no class. 

I was bobbing about just behind when I saw these crafty claws have a fiddle with the buckle and strap. I leapt into a delayed action, it took me seconds to work out what was going on. I whipped off the Sunnies I'd been wearing to get a better look and I said.

"Oi what you playing at mate?"

That got him moving. 

Job done. 

You dont need to tell me I'm a hero
I know I am.

The incident put me on a parra for the whole evening. I kept seeing Absolute Anacondas everywhere , the place became the Viper rooms, which is a pity as it was the only downer on an absolute cracker of a night. 

I smoked 30 cigarettes that weekend. My lungs still feel sore, but sometimes you have to live a little.

We stumbled out the club at about 7am. 

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

BASS, BASS, BASS.

There is nothing better than a night at the slaughter house of Bos Taurus Humanus.