Sunday, 28 October 2007

A cracking good time

I generally seem to be playing catch-up with this blog, writing about things I did yesterday. Inevitable I suppose since by the time an evening's entertainment is finished, it's rather late to start trying to write about it. However I feel justified in writing about last night's fun today, since we didn't even get the party started until gone midnight. Hurrah for clocks going back to give us extra time for fun!

The aforementioned party was Torture Garden's Halloween Special. For those who don't know (and I don't recommend following the links from work to find out), TG is a fetish club. I've been before although not admittedly for a few years. Essentially you dress up in your finest goth/burlesque/whatever clothing (emphatically not normal dress as you have to pass outfit inspection before they let you in) and dance yourself silly to hard house/electronica and the like. And if you want, utilise the dungeon equipment and such, or find a corner for more intimate activities. I will say right now that I do not participate in such things, although of course there is nothing wrong with doing so. I just really enjoy the dressing up and people watching aspects! It's also the nicest club night I've ever been to atmosphere-wise - probably because the level of effort required to get in is so high therefore no casual interlopers from off the streets, and there is an attitude of full openness regarding one's desires. As an example, I have been in ever so many clubs and been groped by sleazy men, and been called all sorts of names for refusing advances (and another, long, story involves the one and only time I've ever punched someone in anger over exactly that, I floored him, ha ha ha, although broke my ring in the process, but I digress). In TG you will be approached and asked (for whatever) and a refusal is met with a smile and a graceful retreat. Much better all round, and leaves much more good humour and energy for the dancing.

By the magic of a good plan coming together, lots of us went including most excitingly several of my Bournemouth massive, and with respective posses there ended up being quite a bit group of people I at least knew tangentally. Cameras aren't allowed in for privacy reasons, although we did get snapped by the official photographer and I will link that up if/when it appears on the site gallery. I have one photo only, of my very funky hairdo for the evening:

I tell you what, having a hairdresser getting ready to come out with you is a fab idea and something to be done at every possible opportunity. I didn't wear the stripy jumper to TG, and I had significantly more makeup on (with orange false eyelashes to match the hair sticks), though I did wear the collar. The rest of my outfit was a standard-issue domme-style black corset, leather skirt, fishnet stockings, boots and a riding crop, although sadly I managed to snap the latter in the queue to get in so could not crack the whip too much. There were some utterly amazing outfits from the other guests, and special shouts must go out to:
  • All the bloodied brides, male and female, since you all clearly thought you were being highly original, but especially props to the dead bride on roller skates who was therefore confined to the ground floor.
  • Ugly naked guy, we salute your bravery, especially when leaning over the balcony, but it would have been better without the trainers (OK OK, broken glass is something best to be avoided so you are forgiven).
  • The guy with the live snake - I never saw you but I'm told the snake didn't look too perturbed.
  • The guy with the posing pouch stuffed with fairy lights, aka Mr "Look At My Crotch". Shame there clearly wasn't room for much else in there with the lights.
  • The people with the huge papier mache cow skull held aloft all night - a useful point of reference for us all in terms of dancefloor orientation.
  • The many furverts, you weirdos, you.
  • All the pirates - why? Since when did pirates become fetish? I blame Johnny Depp.
  • Anyone who complimented me on my magnificent bosom, and the guy dressed up as a devil who told me I was "radiantly beautiful". Aw, shucks.
Eventually we staggered out at 5am (which was of course 6am in the old time regime under which we'd entered the club), only because we pretty much couldn't stand up in heels any more. Cool.

Having slept for half the day, my Bournemouth house guests and I managed a bit of light shopping this afternoon and also a trip to Tate Modern to look at Shibboleth by Doris Salcedo, aka The Crack which is the current installation in the Turbine Hall. I liked it - plenty of speculation on the construction and also another opportunity to observe the habits of our fellow humans, who all seemed to be doing exactly the same thing: walking the entire length of the crack from entrance to back wall (sometimes pausing to jump from one side to the other or stick a foot or hand in), then milling around aimlessly at the point where it disappears behind glass and trying to work out where it went and if they could get through there too. It's fascinating to watch this from the balcony. I wonder if that's down to some kind of herd behaviour, or something else innate that makes us want to follow lines to their origin like an ant following a scent trail? I also loved that in that huge, open, high space, not one person was looking up! I won't discuss the "division" point behind it, I'll leave that to the art critics who know about this kind of thing.  Love the word "shibboleth" too.

I really need an early night tonight.

No comments: