Yes, I predicted the loud music, the oceans of black velvet, and the lovable grunge and grime of East London clubs. But what I couldn’t have predicted was the retro 60s music that the DJs spun into the late hours, to which Emily, Kat, and I danced like wannabe bee-hived maniacs. And I couldn’t possibly have predicted meeting three boys on the night bus who: 1. Could not pronounce my name, 2. Teased me for being an American (real original, boys) and 3. Decided to join us in climbing the lions in Trafalgar Square, where we had to change buses.

It was dawn. The sky was rapidly lightening, like bluish skim milk spilled across the sky. We ran through the square with the glee of young children and tried to heave ourselves onto the great metal lions. It’s a tradition I’ve always wanted to fulfill: sitting atop one of the four guardians of the Square, triumphant and strong, for all the world to see. At dawn, the Square was occupied by a small number of fascinating inhabitants, namely a sad-looking blonde girl that our new friends adopted, and some teenaged rapscallions who took their clothes off to splash in the fountain (alas, they were apprehended by two patrolling bobbies). At first, we struggled to straddle the lion—it was so slippery and offered no grooves for hands to grip. But with the effort of teamwork, up we all slid until we were sitting as if in a toboggan, neatly fitted together, surveying the effects of early morning in the Square.

I’ve just wrenched myself out of bed a mere four hours after I got in, ready for more last-minute fun (Columbia Road Flower Market and one final delicious trip to Brick Lane). I smile as I drink my Lyons instant coffee, remembering the lions of 4am, silhouetted in cobwebs of silver light as the sun began its ascent in the sky, and we began our journey home. It was the best last night out that I could have imagined.