Descending on the club at a sociable hour, we were allocated some ‘2-for-1’ Smirnoff vouchers and work the next day was already looking dubious. Most of Room 680’s nooks and crannies had been eagerly snapped up so we settled behind one of the cages on the dancefloor. The couples choosing to inhabit these spaces seemed to believe they were invisible; pashing and groping shamelessly like drivers who continue to pick their noses even while their vehicle is stationary at a traffic light.

The ceiling resembled a psychedelic spew; each inch was covered in umbrellas, mirrorball clusters and gigantic silver raindrops. One member of the Bang Gang DJ posse was wearing a T-shirt that was also hard to stomach: a black and white print of three ample boobs sitting right where they would be if he were a girl, a close relative of those titty aprons that haunt barbeques. Perhaps his DJ name should be revised to Titty Titty Bang Gang!

A couple of seconds of Claude Von Stroke’s The Whistler was all we were granted. Just as the recognisable melody came in and dancing feet picked up the beat, it was mashed into something else – premature ejection, if you will. Shadows by Midnight Juggernauts received a longer airing and temporarily livened up the floor. The Bang Gang boys were dancing hard up behind the decks although the dancefloor was merely smouldering. We craned our necks for a sign of Tiga behind the decks and religiously checked our watches. That 9am start at work tomorrow started to play on my mind.

The blobbing jellyfish that typically graces the venue’s screens were replaced by inthemix visuals, and an image of Tiga flashing up and raised anticipation levels to boiling point. Cut Copy’s Hearts On Fire strikes a chord with the punters as did Riot In Belgium’s La Musique (which we heard more than once during Bang Gang’s set). Some stunning photos feature throughout the inthemix slideshow – props to ITM’s happy snappers.

The shift in sound and atmosphere as Tiga emerged was spectacular. He dropped Standing in the Way of Control by The Gossip to great effect. As I pondered the appropriateness of texting my boss with news of a sudden, severe bout of food-poisoning, Tiga’s own Good As Gold shook us to our foundations with its insane tweaks. Clad in a hoodie with his cap pulled down low over his face, this pocket-rocket launched projectiles Louder Than A Bomb to wake us from our school night slumber. A blur of arms, legs and satisfied smirks filled the venue and I intentionally avoided checking my watch.

There’s nothing quite like a bit of mid-week mayhem to separate dedicated members of the dance music community from the charlatans. Yes, I was late to work the following day but my aching legs and tinnitus were treasured souvenirs from a Wednesday night spent ‘Far From Home’.