This is not a sponsored post.
Drawing from my generous and very talented friend at Rebsville Art Studio.
I was skimming through Hoop for something fun to do at the weekend that didn’t involve signing up for a term and buying yet another uniform. We needed an indoor pursuit as the weather was going to be a reassuring return to miserable British drizzle. Part way down, nestled between Crafty Tat Time and Saccharin Sing-a-long, is the intriguingly named Raver Tots. To quote directly from their website this is an event:
“where kids and grownups can hit the dance floor and rave together!”
Now, I’m no Theresa May but I do enjoy busting a move or two in our kitchen. You don’t often see the words “Licensed bar” at a kids’ event so I booked immediately. Those two little words were enough to convince my husband, although only on the understanding that he was in fact a rocker not a raver. The more musically discerning than I might assume otherwise given that he has James Blunt, The Bee Gees and the Lighthouse Family on his Most Recently Played on his Spotify account.
Finally! The gold trainers that I had bought on a hormonal whim in the final stages of pregnancy were getting an outing. As was the sequin kimono I was emboldened to buy on a rare solo shopping trip. The universal dress code for ravers is to not look like you intended to go “out,out” but you are just too much fun that that is exactly where you ended up and because I had to get there on the P4 bus. I perfected the raver look with black jeans and an “I’m so fun I wear words on my clothes” slogan Tee. The girls were in their party finery plus some fairy wings and faux fur. Dad, by contrast and true to his “rocker” status, was in jeans and a cardigan.
To quote directly from its website. “Raver Tots is widely recognised as the UK’s most popular family event”. Hmmm…..anything that describes itself as “a family” anything sets alarm bells ringing. In restaurants this usually means an agreement that they won’t judge your parenting if you don’t judge the quality of their food, especially on Trip Advisor.
We arrived at Fire in the pouring rain, to find the doors to the super club bolted shut. The relieved smile on my husband’s face was soon wiped when we joined a long queue of young pram wielding, top knot and leopard print wearing, glamour mums and their equally young looking partners. That will teach me for venturing outside the safety of my parenting postcode. Thankfully many had brought the grandparents so we weren’t the oldest revellers. We queued on a narrow pavement under a stream of rain; back in the day my girlfriends and I would have tried our luck with a sassy queue jump attempt but that was when I was wearing belts for skirts at a student union, not a mum dressed as a past his prime Matthew Kelly.
We parked the buggy and headed into the club. It was under the arches of a railway bridge and each archway was a room playing different genres of “banging tunes” from drum and base, acid house, garage, bathroom and shed (NB I am an avid Radio 2 listener so may not be using the latest terms). Aside from a small inflatable play area, some face painting, a few enormous balloons and an absence of expletives from the MC there wasn’t any kid centric stuff and this was why it worked so well. It felt like an authentic night out and the music was brilliant, we danced for two hours straight. The girls loved having their faces painted and bouncing around throwing some crazy shapes together under the flashing lights almost as much as I did. The best part was we stumbled out at 4pm and the kids were partied out and barely able to stay awake until bedtime. I was tucked up in bed by 9pm and had the best night sleep I’d had in years.
As for their “Rocker” dad. Did I mention that there was a free bar?