We partied all weekend to find out what London clubbers think of the Night Tube

We begin in Brixton, at the southernmost end of the Victoria line and immediately get swept up in the first night’s party vibe. “We love the Night Tube!" declares 30 year-old Giavanna who lives in Brixton. She’s just made a point of riding the first ever southbound Night Tube, making a bunch of new mates on the way. For her friend Kay – also 30 – the Night Tube is unquestionably a game-changer. ”I think it's going to change everything for me. I can go places that I couldn't be bothered to go to before, when I’d just be like, I'm going to come home early.”

As we chat, another wave of beer cradling early adopters are disgorged into the ticket hall, with one group also claiming to have been on the first ever train. It’s like the Pistols at Lesser Free Trade Hall but with contactless payments. We follow the crowds to Phonox on Brixton Road. Here, as DJ Fett Burger mines a particularly deep vein of house and disco, we get talking to Tom, 25, who works in the media. He's unusual in as much that he lives in central London, but typical in that he likes to go out all over the city depending on his mood and friendship group. "I'm livid that it's taken so long," he says, in between drags of his cigarette. "What really gets me is that this has so much potential when you consider cities like Berlin. The economic situation – it's not that it will boost London by hundreds of million pounds a year, because I think that's an egregiously overstated estimate, but the fact that there are so many central London bars and pubs that are suffering so hard – I think this could turn it. London needs to be able to be, not only the richest city on earth, but the most vibrant.”

By 3 a.m. we’re craving a change of scene. Once this might have meant calling it a night, or worse, a bracing Uber receipt in your inbox the next morning. Now we just have to brave the gauntlet of partygoers, tourists with Delsey cases and the sprawled limbs of the sleeping. Just before our Victoria line train embarks, the PA crackles into life: “Welcome to the Night Tube. If you feel sick, please try to leave the train first.” A slurred cheer goes up from the carriage as a man in a suit begins a chant: “Night Tube! Night Tube!” A girl throws her McDonalds bag and lettuce falls like ticker tape.

Still, our mirth is short-lived. Arriving at the Pickle Factory, we discover a flaw: the last entry 3.30 a.m. At 3:32, we’re left looking foolish but at least we can get the tube back, to Brixton at least.