𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

Elgin Crescent.

He was right - I was fascinated. The hallway opened out into an enormous open-plan room, double height with a glass mezzanine. Through the bi-fold doors, I could make out an exquisitely manicured garden, though nobody used it to smoke; clearly the owner had neither qualms about that, nor fire alarms, since a heady recipe of incense, weed and cigarette smoke filled the room with a general fug right up to the ceilings. It was packed out with a baffling mix of people, some that I recognised with a jolt, and other people who, although their faces were indiscernible, were clearly part of an unspoken clan of the achingly beautiful and wealthy.

We turned to edge down the hallway, between the tall, lithe party people with loud voices. 'She's just got back from tour.' Dean gestured pointedly towards a woman with impossibly long braids, who was flanked by an adoring circle of friends - the host. 'And over here, this is the guy I'm hoping will style your next video...'

These characters all blurred into one amorphous whole after an hour, partly because Dean always made introductions at record speed, and partly because it was far too easy to keep swiping freshly poured glasses of something fruity and ice cold, that probably contained absinthe. Throughout I managed to cling to my bag, which carried my Mac – Helen and I had spent most of the afternoon alternating between recording slapdash demos and checking on her fresh dye job before washing it out (she was going tangerine orange for our next show).

By this point I felt ridiculous for having been so anxious about arriving; true, it was overwhelming to interact with dozens of people within minutes, but most exchanges had consisted of the same, rather slack handshake or air kiss, accompanied by a performative sort of simper, or very occasionally, a sincere expression of interest. But I desperately needed a breather, some time to stand in the corner just to people-watch and recharge my social battery. 

I squeezed between the huddles of people swaying (more from intoxication than any of the beats playing over a mysterious audio source). This wasn't difficult; though considered perfectly average in height when in more grounded company, in these circles I was an anomaly. Most of the female half of the room could probably add 'model' to their CV, which I considered was reflective of the industry's prerequisite for our success. There were plenty of rather pretty boys, offering machismo and foppishness alike, plus an inordinate amount of middle-aged men who probably held most of the power: almost exclusively dressed in black, or dressed a little too down for the occasion, just because they could get away with it.

It was like inspecting a hectic, interactive museum exhibit. I wasn't sure if I wanted (or even needed) this crowd's approval, much less to be a part of it, yet Dean seemed to think it was important that I be there. It was a strange relief to not have been approached in my spot at the edge of the room, perched atop a stray bar stool and chewing on one of the definitely-not-recyclable plastic straws that I had plucked from a kitschy diner-style holder nearby.

Having exhausted my line of sight in the main room, I replaced the drained glass with a fresh tumbler of that delicious cocktail from one of the trays that kept being mysteriously refilled by a very subtle caterer. Slipping off the stool, I located a doorway to my left, and wandered into the next room.

The bland Scandi décor was carried through into this one, but it seemed to function as a media room, judging by the enormous screen that took up half of one wall, and an audiophilic one at that, a custom sound system installed in each corner. There was even a speaker that emanated the dull thud of something ambient from within the coffee table. Fucking hell, I thought, shaking my head. What the rich will find to spend their money on.

The people huddled around a pouffe in the corner that balanced a gold tray, taking turns to lean down and snort, which I took as my cue to continue exploring. It wouldn't do to partake - anything even mildly stimulating would mess me up for at least a day and a night.