The trouble with late-night drinking in Shoreditch and the difference a few hours makes to New York’s Lower East Side.

The old lady of east London likes to be tucked up in bed by two a.m. Shoreditch, as the old lady likes to be called, leaves the late opening hours to her cousin across the pond.

To confuse matters, our politicians pass 24-hour licensing laws to abolish the binge-drinking race against last orders. We should be more continental, they tell us, take our time to get drunk. But the old lady is set in her ways. Shoreditch closes her doors early.

I’ve always wanted to know why that is, but I’ve never been bothered enough to find out…until now.

The short answer is the restrictive licensing policy of Hackney Borough Council. The special designated area that includes the Shoreditch Triangle (Shoreditch High St - Old Street - Great Eastern Street) is wrapped up in so much red tape it could be a prototype for Christo’s next art project.

That’s it I’m afraid. That’s the reason. There is no long answer to follow. What remains is merely a rant about a few of the early-to-bed bars in Shoreditch, the popular drinking neighbourhood north of Liverpool Street Station populated by those who like to party in vintage high-tops (RIP checked shirts).

In the West-End, there are plenty of clubs that stay open past the Shoreditch curfew. Clubs like Aura and Mo*vida provide a vital service for the people who want to pay an exorbitant cover charge to continue wearing their black work shoes well into the night.

And since we’re out and about, humour me whilst I take a quick spin around the compass. North Londoners have Proud in Camden; West Londoners have Crazy Larry’s in Chelsea, and South Londoners have Infernos in Clapham. Returning the needle to us East Londoners, we have 333 in Shoreditch. Actually, I’m not sure who’s worse off…

In any case, I have lived in and around Shoreditch for six years. My friends and I have shared flats in Spitalfields, Aldgate, Clerkenwell and Barbican, and I am currently holed up with my girlfriend in the middle of Great Eastern Street. Between us, I’d say we possess a wealthy bank of local knowledge. Enough, say, to formulate a 27th birthday plan for one of our own without breaking into a sweat; a straightforward bar and club combination on a Friday night in the Ditch.

But there in lies our first problem. That we felt the need to ‘plan’ a night out in Shoreditch is indicative of the lows that the old lady has driven us too. Usually, I am all for spontaneity, but experience has taught me to make a plan or end up on the dance-floor in Mother Bar when the lights come on.

By the way, I have nothing bad to say about Mother Bar. Alongside the abovementioned 333, the duo carries most of the weight for the diminutive roster of east London late-night drinking establishments. We’d be stone cold sober by 1 a.m. without them. Except on this occasion, for a birthday party, we dared to aim a little higher. We wanted a change of scene. Shoreditch must have a viable alternative to Mother Bar, right?

The glut of bars is evident to any tourist circling the Shoreditch Triangle with a whistle to whet. With that in mind, we old timers set aside a Monday evening to smash together the bar and club combination for the following Friday. The time pressure had already ruled out a pre-game restaurant. Trying to squeeze a decent dinner in between the end of work and premature last orders is always tricky. Never mind. Eating is not important.

Thirty people would be coming out, and for once, the sausage was matched in equal number by the…erm…mash. Therefore, our main concerns were to find a generous sized bar with no queue and a relaxed door policy where the group could collect after work. A pretty straightforward solution, we thought, when we rang our trusty Commercial Street saloon on the fringes of the Shoreditch Triangle. Unfortunately, the upstairs at Commercial Tavern had already been booked out. Not to worry, the old lady has plenty more bars nestling in her ample bosom.

Of course, we also had to contend with the usual tug-o-war between Westside and Eastside friends. “Come out West” they say. “No, you come East,” we reply. Yep, it can get pretty ugly. Luckily we could play the birthday card to trump any serious objections. In spite of which, we still had to agree to accommodate Westside sensibilities, sticky floors, poor lighting, and questionable toilets being chief amongst them. Troy, The Foundry and The Old Blue Last had to go.

This ruled out Dalston as well.  Now, Dalston is doing its bit to change the drinking shape of east London. The latest outpost for hip young things has some great bars with late opening hours and even greater names, including the Dalston Superstore, the Moustache Bar, Visions Video Bar, the Haggerston Pie Shop, and the old favourite, the Jazz Bar. Still, it’s one thing getting Westside friends to come to Shoreditch, it’s quite another to coax them on to a bus up to the north end of the Kingsland Road. Next year maybe, when the extended East London line brings the tube to Dalston. For now, we must settle for Shoreditch.

To be fair to the old lady, our choice of bar was encumbered by personal tastes, an aging six year acquaintance with the area, and only a sprinkling of compromise.

Personal taste wiped off most of the bars on Curtain Road, which have been commandeered by Essex on Friday and Saturday night: The Queen of Hoxton, Elbow Room, Bar Music Hall, and the dreaded Hoxton Pony. The Tabernacle on Tabernacle Street can be lumped in with that group as well.

Dream Bags, Jaguar Shoes on Kingsland has pretty much had its day, as has Lounge Lover on Whitby Street. The queues outside Favela Chic offer a good indication of the cramped, disco-slum inside; a great place if you enjoy a mosh pit full of sweaty Europeans.

The Book Club - the new Home - is too unpredictable. The former office party staple now hosts knitting events on certain evenings. 93 Feet East has more of a grungy, gigging crowd, and it’s neighbour, Vibe bar, is far better in the summer - like most of Brick Lane. The Hoxton Square Bar and Kitchen is reliably fun, but there is something about the name, something I can’t put my finger on, which prevents it from being a birthday party location.

Pubs like The Water Poet on Folgate Street and The Fox on Paul Street are too suit-heavy on a weeknight. The Horse & Groom is too full of ex-T4 presenters, and the Lounge Bohemia bar-staff are too touchy, the glassware is too fragile and expensive, and the underground bar has no phone reception - a killer for directing out-of-the-area guests to any birthday party. And don’t talk to me about Zigfrids or Bluu in Hoxton Square. Nuff said.

The Princess of Shoreditch stops serving at 11 p.m.; Light Bar, too City; Legion and Casita, too small; East Village, over-zealous, clipboard-carrying bouncers…we kept going until we had no more Shoreditch bars to cross off the list. The silence found each of us pining for the simplicity of the Lower East Side.

For as long as I’ve lived with an ‘E’ postal code, I have been visiting the Lower East Side of New York. Shoreditch and the LES share similar rough-edged hipster credentials. They even share the same street. But whilst there are a few solid bars on Rivington Street in London, Callooh Callay and Dragon being my pick of the bunch, we struggle to keep up with the panoply of bars decorating New York’s version of Rivington Street.

Bars like Fat Baby, the epic Welcome to the Johnsons, and upstairs at Pianos on nearby Ludlow Street, keep the local population going until a customary 4 a.m. closing time. At the business end of a night out, an additional two or three hours makes all the difference. Drinking in the LES is more civilized and relaxed than in Shoreditch and there is always the next bar to check out.

Necessity is not the mother of invention. The mother of invention is not ending up in the coat-check queue in Mother Bar. In contrast to the predictability of Shoreditch, an evening on the Lower East Side can go anywhere with little effort. I have fond memories of drinking with two dirty pretty things at Welcome to the Johnsons. Leaving them to their $2 Pabst, we met a girl in Max Fish claiming to be Regina Spektor. Then we drank vodka out of teacups with another celebrity look-a-like in the Back Rooms. Although, looking at the pictures, the doorman probably was Hightower out of Police Academy. After victory lapping the Johnsons to pick up our two pretty things, we finished the evening off at six a.m, drinking Colt 45 in Battery Park. But that’s quite enough with memory lane, let’s get back to Old Street and Curtain Road and the stress of those pesky birthday plans.

Desperation and that tiny sprinkling of compromise meant we eventually settled on a place to start the evening: the Grille at Hoxton Hotel on Great Eastern Street. The lobby bar area is swish enough for Westsiders and it is easy to reserve a few of the leather couches. The crowd is a little hipper than the bar at the Great Eastern Dining Rooms, a respectable birthday back-up option all the same, and the furry-lipped waiters keep the Eastsiders happy with their Dalston moustaches and the Westsiders well oiled with attentive table-service. Plus, smokers can wander out to the pavement without agitation and there is no goon blocking the glass front door. My only criticism is that the bar could plug the beer gap between Stella and Guinness by adding another tap. Might I suggest Heineken…?

To complete the plan for the evening, we needed to find a club that stayed open late. As I said before, the alternatives to Mother Bar are scare. Cargo on Rivington Street, 54 on Commercial Street and Sosho on Tabernacle Street, are the types of places that no one really wants to go to, but we keep crawling back to them for lack of a better idea.

Plastic People is always an option, but a mix of Techno, Grime and Dubstep can be a divisive musical mash-up. Musical differences also took down the relocated T-bar and the Public Life toilet on Commercial Street, although the latter got canned for a few other reasons, including size and overall suitability.

Lately, we have been going to The Joiners on Hackney Road, a great gay venue, which is open until 4 a.m. and has a ‘straight friendly’ policy. Yet like the Hoxton Bar & Kitchen, it’s not a birthday party venue either.

So what did we decide? After the Hoxton Hotel, we went to The Bathhouse, a bar/club hiding between Liverpool Street Station, London Wall and a church where I once attended a Weightwatchers meeting with my ex-girlfriend. Err…moving on…the venue is open until 5 a.m., including on Sundays, the staff seem amenable to groups/guest lists, and the bouncers were understanding when the birthday boy got into an altercation with a couple of misguided Russians.

Located on Bishopsgate Churchyard, the Bathhouse can feel like a long winter walk from Shoreditch, especially in heels, or a short five quid taxi ride around the corner. The club advised us to get there before 11 p.m., but the amiable doorman didn’t hold it against us when we ignored their advice. Inside, there are two bars, a dance floor, a DJ in a birdcage, and a naked guy performing amateur acrobats unmindful of the other patrons dressed up in busty blow-up costumes, Victorian fancy dress, more moustaches, and lots and lots of funky hats.

I’m not sure how much of this is a regular occurrence. The last time I had visited they had burlesque on a Sunday night. Nonetheless, the Friday evening birthday party proved that it is still possible to enjoy an eclectic night out in Shoreditch and stay out past curfew…provided we cheat by stepping outside the clutches of Hackney Borough Council.

That is the risk. Die-hard patrons might drift away from the old lady and look for their kicks elsewhere. She needs to hoist up her dusty petticoat and take her lead from the Lower East Side. And we can all help by urging Hackney Council to cut her some slack. In spite of my playful vitriol above, there are plenty of good bars in Shoreditch that could be great if they stayed open later. A few more hours really does make all the difference.

On the following weekend, I finally relented to being dragged west of Smithfield meat market. W11. Way west indeed. We hit Trailer Happiness on Portobello Road, which closed at 11 p.m., followed by the Notting Hill Arts Club, which turned the lights on at 2. Aaaah, the Shoreditch disease must be spreading! The Government must step in. We have the late-night legislation, now let’s use it.