The ex lover. Me, after one biscuit too many. Night in question was not a good one for my face.
You all know my opinion regarding The Ghetto. I reiterate Oh how the mighty have fallen. It is actually quite sad. There is no way that place is financially solvent at the moment. I had not ventured to New Ghetto ever since that post Circus revel that left me sorely disappointed, where the place had been deserted on a Saturday night. A combination of credit crunch and bad locale. Clearly the management of what used to be one of the coolest alternative gay clubs in London is in a panic and will try anything to attract more, or in fact any people. This includes spreading their legs so wide it is free entry all night for anyone, cheap drinks (that no one buys, well when there are ten people in a club who can blame them), and a late late license all to no avail. What they should do is get Sam Sparro or some quite big star/dj somehow quite cheaply then charge ten pounds head to get in, provided you are dressed up, if not twenty. Watch the cash roll in. But their latest effort to shock some life into the useless corpse that lies in the middle of Angel-Barbican- 'no where near' as advertised Old Street was to employ 'London's most eccentric dresser' Daniel Lismore to round up his muses, tranny's, and club children from their corral at BBB and thrust them into disco dance dress up party. You have to give them credit for this move.
Indeed, Daniel Lismore was on some extensive Facebook whoring for this one. I am pretty sure a day did not go by last week when I did not get a message about the new club night Disco Biscuit: trashy, horny, fabulous, eclectic, Sunday dance night of your life. Everyone knew about it, at Trannyshack on Wednesday everyone was talking about it. The big problem, no one went.
In the words of my new friend Nadir , " Why did I spend eight hours on these ostrich feather and sequin shoulder pads when no one is here to see them?"
No I showed up around midnight, I'd been working, got done early and thought why not, a little dress up, a little dance with the fabulous Daniel Lismore crew. Quite acceptable. Parts of the Daniel Lismore crew were there, but they were the only ones present. A few tranny's in exotic head pieces, gorgeous fashion students in vintage, and Japanese girls plastered in the foil that was decorating the walls. So at least it was not a repeat of my last ventures, where the few people there were unattractive, at least everyone was somewhat fit and well dressed. Not that this could rescue the night.
I stay an hour, met a jilted ex-lover. Or thought he was a jilted ex-lover until he texted me from across the room (he still had my number, shit! I'm flattered) then proceeded to take pictures and feed me the complimentary biscuits all night. The free cookies were the high point of the evening. Still I didn't think it advisable to just launch into where we left off, making out at Trailer Trash, so I let him trot off with an incredibly short little thing. The music was tolerable and fun but I was hardly worshipping at the alter of the DJ booth and was quickly quite bored, maybe if I had been on loads of coke or something it would have been different, alas I was sober. So I got my picture taken then fucked off.
A decent but misguided attempt at a new club night. Why misguided? Three words Horse Meat Disco. Same night, same music, open later, more people, world famous. Shit Ghetto someone made a mistake.