If you're a club-loving social animal like myself, then Sunday night would have posed a few problems for you too. So many great places to choose from, so little time!

I can remember when Bank Holiday Sundays were a veritable clubland no-mans-land. Parties were restricted to workers' nights at the odd bar here and there, or gay clubs and illicit house (read squat) parties. Most clubs probably just couldn't organise the staff. It is a testament to our adoption of continental European culture, increased leisure spending and the foresight/steadfastness of promoters such as the ones behind Vertigo that more and more of us are heading out on God's supposed day of rest.

And herein lies the modern-day clubber's dilemma. How do you choose where to go on such a special night as the last Bank Holiday Sunday of the year and the mark of the end of (our so-called) summer?

Do you go to Ministry to see the deities that are Morillo & Tong? Or to TDK Cross Central, for their mini dance-fest? (Or if you managed to score an invite, to Trap to rub shoulders with the world of TV and Radio???)

Pacha is a great club, but, as everyone knows, the club does not maketh the night, the night maketh the club. So when these three clubbing giants came nose-to-nose at the weigh-in, it looked, on the face of it at least, that Pacha could be coming off third with a bloody one. Especially after rumours suggested that they couldn't book the DJs they wanted due to competition from the other two (and the plethora of other events around the world on this busy weekend).

The club's own staff weren't too sure at the beginning of the night either. Its always a weird one isn't it, a Bank Holiday Sunday? If the weather's crap, people will just stay at home. Or if the weather's good, they'll have been drinking and sunbathing all day, and will head home early with a hangover and/or sunstroke! You can't win!

The guestlist was big enough though, I saw it; it had the makings of a telephone directory. That in itself is though is still not enough to warrant a successful night. The proof of the pudding is, of course as they say, in the eating.

And boy did Pacha eat. It ate those cherries and spat out the seeds with gusto. This was a kicker of an evening. It was hard to find fault. Having the connossieurs' choice Satoshi Tomie (right) as your headliner is never a bad move, he is highly and widely regarded, from Japan to Italy where he has quite a following and therefore fits in well with the Vertigo mould of utilising "homegrown" talent. Some say he is too progressive, but it seems that he hit the balance on Sunday just right. After all, Vertigo ain't no Hed Kandi, is it! If you want funky, go elsewhere! (at least to the back room!)

In fact, the evening couldn't have gone smoother, music-wise. The openers played the more funky stuff, choosing some summer anthems such as Herd & Fitz's "Just Can't Get Enough" and other vocal favourites that I am sure Morillo et al would be swimming in just across the water. It seemed like a natural progression when Tomie came on and got, well, progressive. The dancefloor certainly didn't argue; it stayed full throughout his set and well after, right until the end.

The crowd were, as ever, gorgeous and continental, which is, in my opinion, why Vertigo will always rule over any night that features the words "Ministry" or "Tong". Don't get me wrong, I like both the club and the DJ. They are like aunts and uncles to me. Its just that coming to London and going to Ministry of Sound can be a bit like going to Ibiza and staying in San Antonio. It is the stuff of legend, but for the wrong reasons. It's good for a night out but only once or twice. And the chances are you will be surrounded by Burberry-wearing chavs.

There were some gripes however; Pacha have done away with the podiums, depriving us mere mortals of a chance to ogle the glamorous-and-extroverted; and despite security closing the doors early, it didn't feel as full as it did on the same night last year. Perhaps not a bad thing as it can often get too crowded like its Ibizan cousin does (below), and there's nothing more annoying than space cadets pushing past you stepping on your white shoes.

This was still an amazing night though and proved once again why Pacha sits royally at the top of the tree in veritable Garden of Eden that is London's clubland, and, some four years after reopening, why it is still going from strength to strength. Vertigo's home is and remains at the Cross, but for some reason, perhaps the splendour of club, perhaps the size of the ballroom, when this night comes to Pacha, it does feel like the two were made for each other. See you here next year!

SA.