Why on earth would anyone want to go to a club on the first weekend following the end of lockdown? And why had I agreed to attend four in three days?

On Thursday, July 22nd, the UK's Covid-19 infection rate was 417 per 100,000 and more than 39,000 people had tested positive within the previous 24 hours. Like many others, I'd heard word of Berlin ravers with both jabs succumbing to the virus after a night out. Yet there I was, outside Venue MOT on Friday, face mask and hand sanitiser in tow, wondering how long I could ward off the Delta variant. As I handed over my ID and had my temperature checked, I hoped someone, anyone, would call and say "stand down—go home, sleep!" But the call never came and nobody likes a quitter, so I entered.

Located on an industrial cul-de-sac in south London, MOT is far from lush. The DIY club has more of a no-frills, old skool rave vibe and prides itself on fostering local underground talent. Two weeks before the lockdown, club organisers opened up Unit 20 alongside the long-standing Unit 18, doubling the club's capacity. Then things got difficult, real fast.

At MOT Unit 18

"As a small, grassroots venue, it's been a real struggle for us to get to this point," club manager Kit Seymour told me a week prior to the club's reopening. The government's lack of clear guidelines for club venues was also proving tricky. "We've been thrown into a bit of a minefield, having to apply our own rules," Seymour continued. "Between ourselves, we've been meeting with local venues to basically be on the same page. The most important thing to us is just really promoting collective responsibility." Thankfully, Friday's event sold out in four days and the venue was able to secure enough staffing to open.

Flora Yin-Wong was a third of the way through her set when I arrived, with slamming, bass heavy offerings, but things felt a little busy on Unit 18's dance floor, so I stepped out into the smoking area. While there, I caught up with a familiar face and got talking to two Portuguese guys, one of whom had arrived in the country that day. The smokers' light drew my attention to the drink splattered all over my footwear, reminding me why new trainers don't belong in a rave. I made a mental note.

Over in a less crowded Unit 20, Felix Hall played a faithful dancehall and reggaeton set, including tracks such as Skillibeng's "Coke" and an inspired take on Mya's "Case of the Ex". He handed over to Jon K at around 2 AM, who leaned toward a more experimental soundscape, before delving into solid UK cuts. I camped out next to a thundering speaker for the remainder of the night (while wearing custom-fit musician ear plugs) and, as the bass rattled my chest, began to settle in.

Sometime before 4 AM, I ordered a taxi. I got talking to the cab driver, Sanjay, who told me his night had been fairly busy. "Clubbing is good for us," he remarked. "All that's missing are the tourists." We discussed the new club rules to come in September and wondered whether venues would still be open to enact them. I suggested another autumn wave was likely and Sanjay agreed, adding "Boris Johnson is always making decisions when the damage is already done."

Ravers at The Cause and Fabric

The following evening, sporting an old pair of trainers, I crossed Blackfriars Bridge into Farringdon. London's fabric lies north of Smithfield Market, a grade II listed Victorian building designed for meat traders, and just within the boundary of the City of London, which dates back to the Roman period. The venue is itself a former meat storage unit, with an exposed brick interior, lending the space a certain industrial charm.

I caught up with fabric resident Anna Wall a few hours before her set that night and she sounded pumped. "I think the atmosphere is going to be really electric," she told me over the phone. "It's mad—my last fabric gig was February 2020, kicking off the start of what was going to be my busiest year to date." Aside from playing out to a live crowd and reconnecting with friends, Wall was also looking forward to testing out new tracks and digging deep into her collection. "I've missed that ritual so, so much, going back through all my old records and the new ones that I haven't had the chance to play out yet," she said, voice brimming with excitement.

True to form, Wall dished up solid house chuggers and acid-laced tracks in the early hours, rousing the crowd to impromptu rounds of applause—of which there were many—eliciting smiles from the DJ booth. Over in the main room, OK Williams pumped out a number of rave classics as revellers continued to flood in. "Let Me Be Your Fantasy" was followed some time later by a remix of "Higher State of Consciousness," and both tracks were lapped up by an eager crowd, which would occasionally burst into an oggy-oggy-oggy chant.

When I left the club via Charterhouse street around 4 AM, I saw many were still in the queue. The reopening event, which began the night before, was scheduled to end at 4 AM on Monday and it was clear the crowd inside was still warming up. But the well-ventilated rooms and thorough checks on the door—all attendees had to provide proof of a recent negative test—were reassuring signs, as was the lateral flow test station I sighted across from the club's main door. Though I couldn't be sure whether it and the club were affiliated.

At The Cause

Later that night, I headed further north to The Cause. The sprawling venue suggested a post-peak festival atmosphere on arrival, with everything a little out of place in the terrace area and ravers huddled in small groups on the ground.

Tottenham's go-to warehouse club, which opened in early 2018, is home to events like London queer rave Adonis. The low ceilings, caged DJ booths and all-round rough and ready feel of the space are among its main attractions, but after the breezy experience of fabric, it was difficult to adjust.

As I opened the main door I was hit by a thick wall of sound and heady air. I made a beeline for the bar and ordered a beer, grateful for the friendly staff, and after some hours committed to the main room, where DJ duo Dusky were playing funky tracks with chunky chords and snares that smacked. I stood stage left and let the sounds wash over while tired bodies cut ever-angular shapes.

Towards the end, I approached Terry, a guy standing close to the exit door. People had been mistaking him for a bouncer for much of the evening. "I'm here to support my friends on the decks, Dusky," he cried out over the booming set. "I wouldn't be here otherwise!" Terry, who is very tall and seemed very sober, lived just over the road. He had been wondering for some time whether to stay or go, which may be why he appeared slightly removed from everything.

The odds of attending another indoor event anytime soon, he explained, were low, save another Dusky set in August, but he assured me that he was for the most part enjoying himself. I asked about his general thoughts on clubbing at the moment, to which he replied, "It's good to see people out, getting their release after being locked up for so long, but everyone's got to find their own boundaries in what's on offer."

As I made my way out to the terrace and thought more about the conversation, my clubbing companion turned to me and said, "This is my favorite part—the morning, when people start to look a mess." We laughed, said our goodbyes and minutes later I was sound asleep in a cab heading home. When I woke up, I took two lateral flow tests—both came back negative. I wondered how many others were so lucky and how much, if at all, my wearing a mask influenced the result.

The journey east that Sunday afternoon took slightly longer than expected. Parts of south and east London had fallen under water earlier in the day, after a flash flood turned streets into rivers. Approaching Hackney Wick station, I watched a woman kayak her way down White Post Lane while her male companion waded knee deep alongside. Around the corner in Queen's Yard, I was relieved to find an accessible path to my fourth and final destination.

Colour Factory, east London's only large Black-owned music venue, sits in the former home of Mick's Garage. Its premier spot in Hackney Wick means it's the first thing you see as you enter from the south side. The weather had no doubt put off a number of would-be day ravers, but those that had showed up were among the most playful I'd seen all weekend.

Secretsundaze DJs James Priestley & Giles Smith gave a mesmerizing performance, energising the crowd with tracks by the likes of Ron Obvious and Zeitgeist Freedom Energy Exchange, while Secretsundaze regulars popped up front to greet and embrace the duo. The space and numbers meant there was enough room for social distancing and the club was kind enough to offer lateral flow tests on the door. The garden area, which looked a little abandoned when I arrived, was saved by a few wooden pallets laid over the sodden artificial turf. After a few hours, a select few braved the makeshift dance floor, including a seasoned clubber who cha-cha'ed in soaked suede loafers.

Out front, I got talking to the bouncer, who mentioned that she had already kicked out a few punters. "What for?" I asked. This was the most gentle crowd I'd been around in ages. "Abuse towards staff, kissing people that don’t want to be kissed, etc." she replied. "They've forgotten the rules." I headed south for the last time that weekend, slightly worried by the last conversation but mostly glad to have ended up at what felt like a community event. Three days, four clubs and six eye-watering lateral flow tests later, I was also glad to test negative. That said, I was told to self-isolate during the week, which I am now doing.

Around 87 percent of England's population has had at least one vaccination dose and around 69 percent have received both, but these figures fall to below 60 and below 23 percent respectively for under 30s. If demand for the vaccine among young people remains low, the knock-on effects may have severe consequences come September, when venues will be instructed to check vaccine passports on entry. A flash poll of 250 venues carried out by NTIA suggests there's little appetite for the policy.

So what to make of the weekend? Well, my new trainers are no longer new and I'll be at home for a while, but on the plus side, it was nice to hear DJ sets on club soundsystems and get reacquainted with the dance floor. I'm not sure if I'll be heading to an indoor event anytime soon, but if I do I'll bring a mask—just in case.