MC Royale has brought his posse from Oxford, while Caballo and his crew are straight off the plane from Prague. The Mighty Wheelitzer has made it from Norwich, all to battle other wheels of steel, including north London locals DJ Marconi, the Veneer, the Cadillac crew, Debbie Does and, of course, DJ Wheelie Bag, the wizened and whiskered grandmaster, creator of this musical phenomenon.
Tickets are limited. The hall is packed. Tonight is the long-awaited Fourth Annual Wheelie Bag Ball, part battle of the sound systems, part performance art, part theatre, part pantomime, part parade, part knees-up, part surreal freak show. The Wheelie Bag Ball is hilarious, good clean fun and it's getting bigger each year. 'It's a chain letter,' says Wheelie Bag. 'But if it gets any bigger we may have to change venues.' Wembley? 'I don't think the event lends itself to Wembley Stadium, do you?'
Someone should check trade-descriptions laws. 'Sound systems'? OK, to be honest, these 'wheels
of steel' are all mobile record decks and speakers, mounted on squeaky castors, artfully customised and cunningly fashioned from shopping trolleys: the metal-framed tartan fabric ones grandma used to push.
The DJs circle the velvet, flock and formica environs of Mildmay working men's club in Stoke Newington (perhaps the London version of Lamma Island), and are marked for their elegance and poise, much like the swimsuit section in a beauty pageant, albeit without the glamour and (thankfully) bikinis.
The judges are music industry aficionados, of sorts. There's a chap from Toe Rag Studios (where
