As we approach the season of festive silliness, booze and brawls, photographer Elliott Morgan and I set out on a bar crawl across the capital. A bitter night in November, our quest began as revellers were on their first drinks – sipping wine under heaters in Soho – and ended in the early hours of the morning, when decorum was a long forgotten concept.
Not your average bar crawl, the closest we got to the inside of a club was feeling blasts of warmth as the door swung open. We weren’t there for the shots or the Chaka Khan, but to meet the guardians of London’s party galaxy. The door people who can make or break our nights out, the keepers of the keys to the capital’s best clubs.
Nabil New Evaristo Club (AKA Trisha’s)
If there were one nightlife venue that all Londoners would collectively shake hands on, it would be the swinging, sweaty and oh-so beloved basement, Trisha’s. The woman herself has become a second mother to the capital, silently watching the night unfold from her barstool perch. Above ground, Nabil is the man making the big decisions: who’s in and who’s out. It’s been his full-time job for the past 15 years and still, he loves it. ‘The customers are my friends. It’s a happy life,’ he says. ‘As the security person I’m always sober. So I have all these memories.’ That said, recollections of famous customers have slipped his mind: ‘Too many famous people. I don’t even remember who because there are so many.’ Though he loves a good chat, he always keeps one eye on the street. ‘There are bad people like thieves and dealers in Soho. My job is to protect my customers inside Trisha’s.’ If Trisha’s is the heart of London nightlife, Nabil keeps it beating.
Jacqui and Paola Ronnie Scott’s
Jacqui and Paola have worked in Soho for 30 years. They’ve worked the door of the globally famous jazz club, Ronnie Scott’s, for the past 15. To my surprise, when I arrive, 82-year-old owner Michael Watt is standing in the entrance. ‘People expect the people on doors to be muscle-headed jerks. These girls can take a trouble-maker and ease them right out,’ he tells me, before passing over to the ladies themselves. ‘We’ve had Prince in here, Lady Gaga. Ariana Grande. Prince was a big one. He actually shut the whole street down when he was here.’ Although, on the night of our shoot, you’d think it was Jacqui and Paola themselves who were the celebs. Our camera flash seems to draw every eye on Frith Street. The pair are well accustomed to a fame-induced hullabaloo by now: ‘We don’t get starstruck. We’re never nervous. We can’t afford to be nervous in our job.’ And you can tell. Beyond their cockney charm and quick wit, these two are not to be messed with.
Kaycia Dalston Superstore
By the time we arrive at Dalston Superstore, soon after midnight, the queue is down the block and the smoking area is bustling with scantily clad bodies. Parting the two like the Red Sea, door person Kaycia stands beneath the neon sign, clipboard in hand. Their favourite memory from working at London’s most reliable LGBTQ+ club? ‘Protecting my community and creating a safe space. It’s a place for people that want to have a really good time and want something a bit subversive,’ they tell me. The description of those unwelcome is simple: ‘Stiff people that aren’t accepting or inclusive.’ Kaycia’s answers come as quickly and directly as they decide who’s in and who’s out. There’s no bullshitting. ‘If it was daylight I’d have sunglasses on,’ they confess. What’s the best night to go to Superstore? ‘Saturday night’, they answer swiftly, ‘No, wait. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.’
Ben Gerry’s
Our newest door person to the profession, Ben has worked at late-night member’s club Gerry’s for only eight months. It’s quiet when we arrive around 10pm, though it’s known for getting lively later in the evening — ‘it starts getting busy around midnight. Midnight, one o’clock, that’s when the pubs close so they all come here for a drink,’ explains Ben. Although it’s a member’s club, anyone is welcome at Gerry’s, so long as they look the part. ‘People wearing tracksuits, or people who don’t fit, we have to ask them to leave,’ says Ben. ‘People who dress well, smart people, are always welcome here. Tracksuits no.’ Almost a year into his job, Ben has concluded that there is simply no place like Gerry’s. ‘The people who come here, the music, the pictures on the walls, everything is amazing,’ he says. ‘It’s always a good vibe here.’
Gia The Glory
Between working as a fashion designer, pattern cutting and generally doing ‘a few little bits to juggle living in London’, Gia has worked at The Glory for nearly three years. A big-shot of east London’s queer scene, Gia previously worked at Dalston Superstore, where she still DJs. Her go-to tune? ‘I always play “I’m Horny!” Or “Like a G6”.’ When she’s out front, the best part of the job is the drama. ‘We’ll just stand on the door and have a big gossip. I like when there’s drama as well. If there’s some sort of argument, I like watching from the side.’ Working the door of an LGBTQ+ venue can come with drama of its own and Gia has no trouble turning people away. ‘If I’m asking them if they know it’s a queer bar and they’re like, “Oh right”, but still want to come in, then I say no because that reaction isn’t what I’m looking for. I’m looking for people who are like, “F*** yeah that’s fine”. Anyone with attitude, even gay people, I won’t let them in. It ruins the vibe.’
Didier The Standard
From one celeb hotspot to the next, as we arrive at The Standard in King’s Cross, the first person we see is real-life Pussycat Doll, Kimberly Wyatt, dressed to the nines on her way out the door. The second person we see is equally as polished: French doorman, Didier. Six silver frog brooches climb his lapel and his turquoise beret crowns him as the King of Sweeties bar, where he’s worked for the past four years. ‘In hospitality you have to move around every three years otherwise you get bored, but I’m still here!’ he says. His beret also represents his ‘patience hat. That hat comes out on a Saturday. Londoners don’t go out on Saturdays — Mondays are the best night, that’s when artists go out. On the weekends, here, they’re not really Londoners.’ The only people not welcome at The Standard? ‘Arsenal supporters. Highbury is around the corner so we have a policy: no football shirts. We don’t want to have two people from enemy teams.’
Faye (and Hannah) Ridley Road Market Bar
Before we could snap her picture, Ridley Road door woman Hannah bolted to scold people for taking drinks outside past 11pm. Stepping in is Faye (pictured) — sometimes door woman, DJ and bartender. Ridley Road Market Bar is the tropical-themed Seventies paradise that serves cheap, slushy cocktails and is a student’s rite of passage. Hannah discovered it as a student herself, developing such an attachment that she now works there full time. ‘I have a personal connection to the venue because I’m Swedish and I used to come here aged 18. It was one of the first venues I came to,’ she says. As well as providing the backdrop for photoshoots and music videos — most recently, singer Olivia Dean — the club also collaborates with other local businesses. ‘We host after-parties for Rio Cinema. We’ve had a few live gigs that have been really special. People even come here to celebrate their weddings. The bride will come in her wedding gown with a blue Margarita.’
Duke Dalston Jazz Bar
Having spent my past three birthdays at Dalston Jazz Bar, I can assure you it’s a night you won’t forget (unless Duke is on standby with tequila shots). When he’s not on the door, Duke is a chef in the kitchen, behind the bar, a DJ and general manager, too. He does it all and he’s seen it all — including one notable night lately. ‘Gregory Porter came here randomly when he was on tour. He came in, ate the food, finished the food, got up and performed out of the blue with all the musicians. Later on we took him around Dalston to show him all the hotspots.’ In recent years, to Duke’s delight, the TikTok effect has led to queues down the street. ‘The people who come here are extremely diverse. From 60-year-olds with their children, members of the LGBTQ+ community, Black, white, people who don’t speak the language, people who do. You can find anyone in the jazz bar at any given moment and you can never predict who’s gonna be there.’