“A dirty little warehouse party.” Dirty? Check. I’d go so far as to say filthy since being propelled into a tarpaulin separating two areas resulted in a brown smear on my arm that countless showers couldn’t budge. Little? Definitely not! Try gigantic – there are floral frocks as far as the eye can see. Warehouse? Actually more underground car park but the peeps are determined to party.

Dressed-up punters queuing for portaloos always remind me of Spring Racing Carnival, or Earthcore which is also on this weekend – Kenny sure has his work cut out for him! Fashionistas teeter in their stilettos on the uneven asphalt surface. The feeling that you’ve broken into a disused space to reclaim the night is exhilarating but damn uncomfortable underfoot, even in trainers.

Our sonic navigator cranks out The Knife’s brilliantly cacophonous We Share Our Mothers’ Health. The tone is set and we carve up what serves as a dancefloor appreciatively. Goodwill makes good use of the microphone to rally up excitement for Sander Kleinenberg’s ludicrously early 1am set. “Are you ready for Sander Kleinenberg?” sets off squeals of delight inclusive of Yours Truly. Kleinenberg is no slouch in the looks department and I urge my friends ever forward. Much hype is generated by the inclusion of VJ Mark Pistoors in his entourage, a heady anticipation ensues.

The set-up features row upon row of light bulbs; they change colours to form patterns. Kleinenberg brings with him an aura and doesn’t need a flashing halo of lights in order to radiate. These visuals are distracting and lost on the majority of the crowd who are sandwiched together on a flat surface. Should’ve worn those stilettos!

Maybe I’m just sulking ‘cos I couldn’t cop an eyeful. The retina-protectors Kleinenberg chooses to model look like they’d give you robot vision and would complement a tinsel wig from The Royal Melbourne Show. His sound is polished; the core is deep and dark with a funky, gyrating edge. Remember David Lynch’s cult TV series Twin Peaks? Moby’s 1991 remix of Laura Palmer’s Theme – Go – is resuscitated and causes mucho mayhem. The Prodigy’s Smack My Bitch Up makes casualties of us all, dancing istinctively at Kleinenberg’s mercy.

A brief sojourn to the loft unveils Midnight Juggernauts DJing. It comes as no surprise when they drop labelmates The Presets Down Down Down in da mix. The crowd’s recognition reflects The Setties have had one helluva year. It’s a love-in of Modular proportions. Glamours unable to hack the intensity of the car park flock to the loft.

Sorry, can’t stay, have a date with the Swedish House Mafia (Steve Angello and Sebastian Ingrosso) and rumour has it they are gonna be ‘made’ tonight. Back-to-back sets are intense, they possess a competitive edge and each mobster wishes to claim the reaction of the night. It’s hard to slip back into the intensity but Insomniac by Faithless soon fixes that! Nostalgic nods continue as The Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams shakes up our equilibrium. Our insomnia can’t be cured so easily, we’re in it for the long haul and the bed can wait.

Nobody parks it at this filthy epic underworld bash.