For one night only, the Faceparty crew had built a Colditz-style prison on Brick Lane in the East End of London. Inside was a mini-Amsterdam, complete with girls dancing in sex-shop windows, secret rooms, a rainforest and a waterfall.

The barstaff were clad in bloodied surgeons' aprons and the scene resembled the emergency room aftermath of a motorway pile-up, as they served customers over a bar made of liver... yes, liver. Entertainment came in the form of a crucifixion, pyro queen Lucifire and Bizarre cover models the Porcelain Twinz.

After exploring the woodland grove and guzzling copious free champagne, I began to feel I was in a fucked-up Wonderland. A few glasses later and I collapsed next to a woman wielding a pink machine gun. Just another night on the tiles then.