Website updating


Am currently in the process of updating the website as it looks older than my FACE.

So please bear with me whilst it gets fillers, botox and a hot new plaything.

In the meantime, here’s a picture of me on NYE about to perform at Royal Festival Hall for the NYE Spectacular.

LOOK AT MY DRESS. Am still dead with love from it

Ok, be back soon ta ra




Oh my, I have neglected to update the website of late. By that I mean almost six months. OOPS. By way of apols, please accept that picture of me above in my NYE get up from a couple of weeks ago. There, that makes up for it doesn’t it? And yes, it IS made of baubles.

I have been busy, not so busy I couldn’t type a few words onto the internet about me me me,  but the end of the year is always a bit crackers and not just because of Christmas.

Anyway, rather than sporadically posting with a whack of dates and goings on and then leaving hulking big gaps which makes it looks like I have fallen off the earth, as this upside down dj world is never the same each day the best place to find out about ME and what the heck I am doing in a professional sense (as well as bonus top telly chat) it’s best to follow me on Twitter, have a peep at Instagram and generally ignore Facebook (as I do). This isn’t a philosophy for all btw. But Facebook is a draaaaag

Hope you have an excellent 2018 and that we meet on a dancefloor soon



2017 and that


Have been terribly tardy of late with the updates, sorry to anyone who is actually arsed.

Anyhoo, had a v busy December what with Christmas parties in their full swing and squeezed in a trip to Barcelona at the start of the month, as well as er, Bournemouth, but both were work not pleasure. Although, really, my work IS pleasure, especially when it’s by the seaside. Then it was actual Christmas so didn’t do nuffink work wise until NYE. But I don’t have to explain myself. You’re not the boss of me.

Before I quack on, must alert your ears and eyes to this LATEST PODCAST . This time on Anna Greenwood Likes to Talk, I talk to Zoe McNulty, a fierce fitness force, body confidence expert and all round excellent person. She is the perfect antidote to the January dieting / self hate yawn that is shoved in our face at this time of year and will make you put down the green smoothie, pick yourself up and learn how to WORK IT. She runs School of Strut which teaches women how bring some love to their chastised thighs, learn some amazing dance moves and have a right old LOL. Check her out here and listen HERE

Now to disco matters. I was kindly asked back to play the wondrous SouthBank Centre for their Vintage NYE party, which was just marvs. It was ace as ever and my dress was increds. I also managed to ruin it due to flailing limbs which are my signature dance move. WELL DONE ANNA. See before and after shots here:


(Mine hair etc)

Onto January larks:

W Does BrunchW Hotel – Every Sunday

Put your feet up, pop the slippers on and sink back into the sofas of the deluxe W Lounge as you are served up a Sunday sensation of food and drink with music from me! 12-4pm every Sunday, book in here 

Saturday Soiree – Soho House, Saturday 14th January

Shimmying my way up the stairs to the top of 76 Dean Street, shall be playing my decrepit vinyl and no doubt forgetting to take the covers off my needles as I am such a pro. 9pm – 1am

My Birthday – Monday 16th January

Same day as Kate Moss. Can guarantee hers will be 1000000000000x more fun than mine. I AM FINE WITH THAT.

G-A-Y – Friday 20th January

Start of my new monthly residency at London’s pop mecca. SQUEAL 11pm – 4am NON STOP BANGERS

Soho House – Thursday 26th January 

Thursday is the new Friday! Come and find out for yourselves at snazzy 76 Dean Street Soho House  10pm-1am

H&M Staff Awards Party – Friday 27th January

You can only come to this if you’re invited obvs, but you know, it’s my world ergo I shall spout about my carry on as I please.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Have a dreadful feeling there are other things I have forgotten. But this might be dreamt events masquerading as facts. This wouldn’t be the first or last time. Oh well. Shall update here / Twitter as and when I wake in the night in an anxious cold sweat about missed gigs etc







Anna Greenwood Likes to Talk – second Podcast

I started a podcast the other month. Have done another. This time my guest who I like to talk to is the perma-effervescent John Sizzle.

Le Sizzle, in casual mode

John is a dj, performer, venue owner and all round trannie superstar. He is most importantly, massively ace. We have a chat about all manner of things, but mainly pop music and its offshoots – costumes, pop stars, escapism – as well as John’s recent trip to LA to promote the Dressed as a Girl film, how Shirley Bassey inspired him and going for a wee whilst djing and wearing three pairs of tights. ESSENTIAL LISTENING NO DOUBT YOU’LL AGREE.

Click here for your ears 

Hosted by the excellent ON SOAP podcast platform


It was. I did. I want to be there NOW.

It was also an actual holiday, rather than work. A rarity in my life – haven’t had one for TWELVE YEARS.

Here are some pictures of the greatest city in the universe. I cried pretty much solidly with MAD LOVE for the first 48 hours. Because I am a cool dude.

Here are a few snaps and that.

Central Park
Frick Collection Garden Court – imagine this in the middle of your house!

Manhattan from Staten Island Ferry
The boss of New York
Deli-cious! (sorry)
Happy on the High Line
My Mecca
Empire State at sundown SWOON
Pickle in a Packet – why America is BEST







Look who’s talking

ME. I am talking.

Started a podcast. It’s called Anna Greenwood Likes to Talk… Because I do.

Each episode will be talking to a different guest, the first one being Jess Indeedy from Indeedy Musical Bingo. So, its official title is Anna Greenwood Likes to Talk… to Jess Indeedy. Because I also do.

It’s hosted on the excellent Podcast LDN platform. You can listen now. Or later. OR NOT IF YOU’RE DEAD MEAN.



A booth with a view

These are my two favourite views from the booth of recent gigs.

Wedding in Cornwall. As much as I love a disco light and a dancefloor, you can’t beat a beach.

Fitting song (it was this or Belinda Carlisle’s Circle in the Sand, so think yourself lucky)

28 floors up in London town. Glorious greenery and expensive tenancies. Queen’s house to the left. No sign of actual Queen.

Except here

(Don’t think she has Moet and Chandon in her cabinet as Freddie sings. I reckon it’s tots of gin. Lots of tots)


Oh! De Gaga

I love Lady Gaga. I think she’s amazing and bonkers and made pop interesting at a time when it looked like it was going a bit saggy.

But I don’t want to smell like her. Although I’ve never met her, so maybe I do. Maybe she smells incredible. I don’t think she smells bad; she looks like she keeps herself tidy.

However, judging by the advert for her debut fragrance, she smells a bit scary. I don’t want to smell scary. Who wants to smell scary? Don’t make me smell scary!


Olympic Fever

I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t have any symptoms leading up to the games. Quite the opposite in fact. I was all, ‘Transport will go into meltdown!’ ‘London will collapse!’ ‘How will anyone get to work?’ ‘Why can’t I walk down this road anymore?’ ‘Too much money spent on showing off!” (who am I to talk?)

But on the day the games started I went for a run and ended up at the Olympic Park, which is down the road from me in Hackney. And then it happened. The fever hit me. I saw the stadium, the velodrome, the aquatics centre, that big white building with the red blobs which houses some sport f which I know not what, all these things I have seen before in their varying stages of construction and never once felt a thing. I think I may have even tutted in the past. Until then. And I burst into tears there and then on Ruckholt Road, overcome with emotion and excitement and pride and maybe because my right leg was hurting a bit too, but pride mainly of course.



Oh London *cries*

Since then my Olympic love has just grown stronger and it seems to be the same across the nation. I LOVE IT! The fact that I didn’t see it coming makes me love it EVEN MORE. Everyone just seems happy. Maybe that’s my hideously relentlessly grating positive outlook, but there does seem to be a general feeling of excitement and celebration in the air. It’s ace. I take back every moan and winge I emitted pre-Olympics (except Boris announcements on the trains / buses, THAT stays) as right now, it’s just ace.

Prolonging the love is all the winning we’ve done. WINNING. US. WHO KNEW? So much winning. I’ve watched hours of sporting feats so far, unable to avert my gaze from the telly all whilst shouting encouragement / crying / being amazed by the athletes to the point where I have dreams about them and think we are best friends (Jessica Ennis) / stealing make up ideas from gymnasts (one can never have too much blusher is key) / crying / wondering what sport I could do at Rio 2016 and win gold and stand on the podium and cry / how I could become friends with Jessica Ennis / more crying…


The emotional floodgates have opened it seems and I can’t make it stop. Not just our country either, I’ll take any potential tear jerking opp. It’s like a drug; I need a regular fix. It reached an absurd point last week when an advert in the paper for Gillette with Chris Hoy and the strapline “Can you knight a man twice?” brought tears to my eyes. Jesus. An advert for razors. Not even with moving pictures. A tenuous link. A cynical marketing ploy. A whole other level of tragedy I never knew I could reach. What has become of me?

A razor. I’m not emotionally capable to deal with such powerful imagery. 

But what makes it all so much sweeter is a year ago London was rioting, burning and unhappy. It wasn’t much fun and everyone was somewhat fed up and a bit scared. I’m not so naive to think that the Olympics can magic the problems away, but the fact we’re not robbing from the guy in the shop who sells us milk every day or smashing up Footlocker but instead being a bit excited about good stuff is really quite nice.

I don’t want them to end. I know it would be a bit weird if they carried on forever and we’d all get dead bored, but right now I just want them to keep going. We’ve run out of most sports, but can’t we just start doing some others to make it last a bit longer please? How about rounders? Everyone likes rounders! We’re good at rounders, we could win another medal! Come on, let’s not give up, one more week. Please? We’re good together. You make me feel happy. I’m a better person when you’re around. PLEASE. I NEED YOU. DON’T GO!


Barcelona: me encanta

Yes, that’s probably dreadful Spanish and grammatically incorrect, but the sentiment remains. Barcelona: I love you.

I’ve been lucky enough to go there fairly regularly for the past four years or so to play at the Guilty Pleasures residency at Razzmatazz. It’s not a bad life is it?

Each time I try to extend the trip by a day or so, in order to go and see things and generally gorge on the ACENESS of the place. There’s so much to do, to see, to eat, it really is lo mejor. That was some more Spanish for you. Just throwing it in there. Bi-lingual me you know…

Anyway, here are some of my favourite things about Barcelona (aside from the oft reported top hotspots such as The Sagrada Familia and the Gaudi architecture bonkers-fest, the beach, Miro sculptures and artwork EVERYWHERE, the Gothic quarter, Picasso and that, hot Spanish boys with curly hair etc) accompanied by pictures to make it more aesthetically pleasing than a load of my scrawl.


The reason why I get to go there so often and why I want to keep going back. It’s a five-roomed, meta-brilliant club run by just the best bunch of people and attended by a top crowd who dance lots and look ACE. I play in the Pop Bar, which is the top left hand room on this photo fact fans. Set times are at crackers o’clock, such is the Spanish way, starting at 3am. 3AM! That’s when most clubs are shutting in the UK. In Spain they’ve only just finished having their tea.


No, not the euro pop act (well not today anyway) but the splendid fountain in the Parc Ciutdella. First came across it on my second trip there on a beautifully bright sunny day and was somewhat dazzled by it’s MASSIVENESS and gold bits on the top. Do like a touch of gold upon a structure. That same day of discovery, I fell over on stage at Razz and broke my elbow mid-set (I carried on for 20 minutes! I SHALL NOT BE STOPPED) but the association isn’t tainted in anyway. Plus I’ve never fallen over since. Ok, I have, many times but not in an arm-in-sling mega-drama outcome anyway.


It’s a whacking great big mountain in Barcelona and atop of it sits a park, Joan Miro institute / Gallery, arenas from the 1992 Olympics and the above building which is the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. Or National Art Museum of Catalunya if you prefer. The latter is HUGE and contains all manner of visual delights going through gothic, romantic to modern periods in Catalan art. On the ground floor there’s one room (I say room, it’s the size of a football pitch) where they’ve installed the interiors of derelict churches from villages in Catalunya that the MNAC acquired and painfully reconstructed within the museum’s walls. ‘Tis truly remarkable and a lovely thing to do as otherwise they would have been knocked down, or left to ruin whilst loads of rats run amoc doing wees on the frescos. Instead they can be marvelled forever amen.

Oh and at the bottom of the hill (on the Plaça d’Espanya side) there’s the Font Magica which is a great big run of fountains. At night throughout the summer there is a show set to music by Abba and Jean Michel Jarre. I have never seen it and writing that down makes me wonder why the HELL not. Fountains dancing to Oxygene? Why haven’t I witnessed such a spectacle? AMAZING.


Making the ordinary lovely. Look at them. If our paving stones were as pretty as this, we’d never ruin them with chewing gum, fags and vomit would we? Would we? Oh we would. Oh well.


The name of a Catalan sauce made of almonds and tomatoes amongst other stuff, but also an ace cafe in El Raval just off Las Ramblas. It’s by no means glam; the waiters sort of bark at you, there’s strip lighting, but the food is just the best. They get most of their produce from the famous Mercat de la Boqueria which is just up the road and the menu is a no-frills but delicious fare of tapas, salads, meats and more. The sardines are the freshest and best I’ve ever tasted and cost about €3 for LOADS. Go there and eat them and DEFY MY SARDINE THEORY.

Whilst we’re on food, there’s also this:

Escalivada – skinned and roasted peppers, onions and auberguine in loadsa olive oil. FIT

Ensalada Xató – or anything involving Bacalao, the Catalan salt cod treat. DOUBLE FIT.

Crema Catalana – the Spanish (superior) version of crème brûlée. MEGA FIT. Always try to have at least one. Have been known to have two. They’re usually served in bigger, shallower dishes than what you get en France, which is ace if you’re greedy like me. Best one to be found at Mar de la Ribera in Born in my cakey opion.

These are some of the reasons why I love the Catalan capital. There are more, but to be honest I’ve rambled on enough and after all this food talk, I’m jeffing starving.

Hasta tarde.

Palaces, Disco and Mud

I’m djing at a Palace tomorrow. Not THE palace, but A palace is good enough for me.

It is in fact Fulham Palace. This is what it looks like

It’s pretty. I thought all palaces looked like this (or a version of it with turrets and decorative balls):

So I’ve learnt today to not presume about palaces. What with being in a palace I’ll have to deck myself out decently in case an Earl or Count falls happily ever after in love with me and I get married and am a princess who lives in the palace. Or not, but wouldn’t it be a larf if it did? I think I’d look quite fetching in a tiara.

Friday I’m djing in the Saturday Night Fever Disco at the Saturday Night Fever spectacle at the Old Vic Tunnels. A recreation of the set of the film with streets, diners, bars, shops, DISCO and screening of the film will all happen underneath Waterloo Station. How amazing. So excited. I get to play disco records all night long and pretend I am a disco dancing star. Am going to try not to get fully into character, but the amateur dramatics from my youth may have other ideas and rear up and take over me. Kind of like possession, but in a Fame school way. Oh dear that sounds dreadful. Let’s hope it’s it works out for the best for everyone’s sake.

It runs from today, 11th July – Saturday 21st. I’m djing this Friday in the disco after the last screening from 11pm and then again on Saturday 21st. Read more and buy tickets here 

Then Saturday I’ll be jumping on the train to beautiful Suffolk for the annual Latitude Festival Guilty Pleasures party. GP has hosted the Comedy Arena every year since Latitude’s inception and it’s a joy and a privilege to play there. Everything is marvellous from the site to the crowd to the Latitude staff who are so nice it makes you behave like a better human being.

Gosh that was gushing. Maybe I should say something vile to balance it out. No. No, I shall desist. I will be like a Latitude worker instead and stay LOVELY.

I’ll be alongside GP cohorts Sean Rowley, the DreamBears, Sparklemotion and 6,000 mud-clad pop lovers dancing their way to trench foot in a giddy throng. Tickets are here if you fancy a last minute jaunt. It’s worth it you know.

Then on Sunday I shall be looking like a half dead human and eating doritos on the sofa. Classy way to end the weekend non? Not sure if that Earl will want to marry me after all. Oh well.

Is my livelihood under threat?

Paris Hilton has turned her multi talented hand to the art of playing records. Clearly this is another area she will master judging by her debut:

She can’t work out what speed to have her records at, but then that was something John Peel used to suffer from (playing 33rpm records at 45rpm). Not that she is anything like John Peel of course; don’t think he’d favour them spangly headphones. Although I do. Plus she is devoid of beard and musical encyclopedic knowledge.

Or at least as far as we are aware, who knows what other skills she has hidden away.

Regardless, I like to think I have the monopoly on the prancing dj in-a-fancy-get-up department. I can out-whirl her any day of the week and can actually play records at the right speed (well, sometimes…) but I don’t have a massive video backdrop of ME to top it off with. Not sure if anyone apart from me does actually want that, but my concern is thus: will Paris steal my gigs? Will they want the heiress rather than the pauper? I best get a job lot of diamante and glue them on my headphones sharpish as clearly I’m going to need all the weapons one can muster in this dance floor battle.

Tense times abound…