Air We Go! (1/2)

GALLIVANTING around Britain in the middle of the night is second nature to your ordinary DJ. But ask them to roar around the country on New Year's Eve, and something is bound to go wrong. Something to do with Mr Sod, his law and a slow puncture. If, like Cream, you're planning to put on one of the biggest New Year's Eve celebrations ever and entertain 30,000 clubbers in four different venues on one night, the last thing you need is the star of the show sitting on his record box at the side of the road. So the Liverpool club hatched a cunning plan. It would ferry its top spinners around on a great, fuck-off private jet. This is what happened. 9PM. The London Arena is already nearly full. This is the Cream and Gallery leg of the New Year's Creamathon. Paul Oakenfold, Roger Sanchez and Fatboy Slim (aka Norman Cook) have just taken to the decks in their respective rooms. The main room, where Oakey is residing, has just unleashed an ear-splitting cheer. A disembodied voice floats over the PA: "The main room is full. Would everyone please move back from the stage!" The crowd greets this warning with another surge to the front. No chance, mate.

In the Eclectronica room, Norman Cook is having a few teething problems. The sound isn't working too well and everyone is sitting on the floor. "Can you hear me?" shouts Norman over the music. "Yes!" shouts someone from the back. Mr Cook plays some easy listening until the system kicks in ten minutes later. Roger Sanchez in the garage room is having no such problems. He's busy teasing the crowd with snippets of Sneak's mix of Stardust - surprisingly, the only time Mixmag hears it all night.

With events this big (there are 12,000 people here tonight) there is always the possibility of a 'wanker problem', but inching around the huge rooms uncovers nothing but the smiling faces of well-dressed clubbers. The only hitch has been the cloakroom, which was closed just as everyone was arriving, due to staffing difficulties. But the thought of dancing round their coats for the rest of the night doesn't seem to worry people. It seems they have other concerns. "How are all these people going to get home?" asks one lad. "Is that what you're worried about?" laughs his friend. "Chill out! It's only just started..."

By the time we've done another lap of the venue, things in Norman Cook's room are back on track, with everyone singing along boisterously to 'Gangster Trippin' and 'Born Slippy'. Then the Big Ben chimes ring out. Everyone looks confused, before launching into half-hearted cheering and snogging. But it's only 10.45pm in the evening - what's happening? "I found a DAT under the decks and thought it would be a laugh," says the Fatboy with a grin. Meanwhile, Paul Oakenfold has a semi-circle of blokes on each others' shoulders halfway down his room. And one lone geezer who's been beckoning him over for a chat all night from the safety barriers. Paul breaks into a huge grin and shouts over to him: "What are you doing? You should be having a ball!"

BEFORE we know it, it's time to hustle everyone out to the waiting Space Cruisers for the drive to Stansted airport. The plane leaves for Manchester at 11.45pm and we have to be on it. Norman Cook, as part of his agreement to play up north (which he hardly ever does), has brought a posse of friends along, among them girlfriend Zoë Ball. As we near the terminal, Zoë whips out a bag of saucy red underwear. "Right. Has everyone got their red knickers?" she asks, passing them round the van - apparently, it's a custom in Italy to wear them and flash them at people at midnight. Knickers at the ready, we pull up at the doors of the terminal. Police with machine guns and Alsatians greet us as we fall out of the van. "It's like being in the A-Team," someone giggles, and everyone launches into a rendition of the theme tune. Paul Oakenfold and his team are super-organised, already checked in and waiting by the boarding gates, while Norman's shambolic mob are dropping champagne bottles and getting lost in the toilets. Roger Sanchez, who's on his own, takes this opportunity to eat his dinner, a packet of crisps. Why is he Billy-no-mates? "Cream thought I didn't need to bring a posse," he jokes. "Hell, it's only New Year's Eve."