Soho Sal

We're off en famille to our fave Wetherspoons the Penderel's Oak this afternoon - Our Sal's in town! She and John-John went to see Abba - Voyage (his treat for her birthday, which is next month), and this gathering is to see her off before she heads back up north to Newcastle.

Holborn's hardly Soho, but I never need an excuse to feature a little nostalgic wallow into that bustling heart of our great city - courtesy of the ever-faboo Soft Tempo Lounge:

Soft Tempo Lounge - Soho Scene '69

Sublime.

[Music: Peter Herbolzheimer - Botafogo; Original film: The Big Switch (1969)]

Heaven, I'm in Heaven

From the venue's gigs website:

London clubland in the 1970s was a fairly dismal place. It compared very unfavourably with New York and many European cities and the concept of ‘clubbing’ as we understand the term today simply did not exist.

To that end a group of innovative characters got together and took over the site that was a run down old roller disco called Global Village and in December 1979 Heaven opened its doors for the first time. It was timed perfectly. Six months earlier Mrs Thatcher had been elected and an era began that saw unemployment rise to levels last seen in the 1930s. The sense of decay and gloom was palpable. The ‘Swinging London’ of the 1960s a distant memory. London needed a splash of colour and flamboyance to counter-balance the otherwise grey monochrome that was the reality of the British capital.

Heaven was the brainchild of Jeremy Norman, responsible for the Embassy Club, which was seen as the nearest London had to Studio 54 in New York. Heaven quickly became the focal point for what had until then been a fairly understated gay scene that hitherto had been based in small hidden cellar bars or pub discos. When Heaven opened its doors in 1979 only twelve years had elapsed since the decriminalisation of homosexuality, and at the time there was still a lot of overt prejudice against gay men and lesbians. Heaven bore the brunt of some of that intolerance and in those days was regarded warily by the authorities.

It did however establish itself as a club venue that constantly re-invented itself... There were periodic live shows featuring bands who fancied playing an off the wall venue rather than the usual spit and sawdust live music venues. New Order played their first London show here in 1981. Bauhaus were filmed at Heaven in 1982 performing their classic Bela Lugosi’s Dead, the footage for which was used in the Catherine Deneuve/David Bowie film The Hunger – one of the original ‘sexy vampire’ movies.

In 2008 MAMA Group went into partnership with G-A-Y founder Jeremy Joseph and purchased Heaven... Jeremy took over sole ownership of Heaven in 2013. G-A-Y was moved over from the Astoria, which was in the process of closing down, and this now occupies the main club sessions on a Thursday, Friday and Saturday and has featured notable performances since that time by Adele, Lady Gaga, Jessie J, Miley Cyrus, One Direction amongst many others.

The rest, as they say, is history.

And so it was that on Wednesday night a little gang of us joined a packed room of old regulars, together with hordes of new faces, in that legendary cavernous under-the-arches venue for a very special 40th anniversary event indeed - as "London's peerless gay literary salon" Polari joined the party. And it was spectacular!



Our host Mr Paul Burston was as proud as a new dad to be up there on the glittering stage that has previously played host to Kylie, Madonna and Britney, as he paid tribute to his experiences of first coming to Heaven as an out-of-town teen - then it was time for our first guest...



Our chum "Sexy Lexi" Alexis Gregory has come a long way since we first knew him as bar whore at BarCode Soho. Playwright, award-winning writer, and - above all, as his performance here tonight ably demonstrated [notwithstanding the magnificence of his "immersive" play Slap that we went to see back in 2015] - an accomplished actor. His latest play Riot Act is actually a completely verbatim portrayal of the stories told by three gay pioneers [whom Lexi personally interviewed]: our very own Mr Burston (who was an activist in the UK in the days of ACT-UP); Miss Lavinia Co-op, drag queen with Bette Bourne's Bloolips troupe and veteran of the 1970s Gay Lib movement; and [the character he inhabited this evening] Michael-Anthony Nozzi, possibly the last survivor of the Stonewall riots in New York [which happened 50 years ago this year].

As Trinidad and Tobago gay activist Jason Jones said in his review:

The Stonewall Riots of June 1969 are fairly well documented, but this first-hand and deeply personal account is full of subtle details and nuances that only someone who was truly present at that historic moment can capture and express.

Nozzi’s account is deeply profound as it captures the essence of what transpired nearly fifty years ago, and what the sparks were that lit the flames that night (Judy Garland RIP); it echoes today in a rather poignant manner as we see Pride celebrations across the world being mired in identity politics, infighting, commercialisation and seemingly losing relevance as to the original intended purposes.

When Alexis Gregory’s atmospheric raspy vocal of Nozzi talks about the blood and gore being everywhere, that even the coins from 'the wishing well', a glass jar that was inside of The Stonewall Inn to collect donations - which a drag queen smashed over a policeman’s head that night of the raid - had spilled out and were stuck to the pavement with blood, you are left wondering: what has LGBT activism become today, and are we too docile in fighting for our equal rights?

And so it was - I was on occasions left gasping for breath as Lexi brought this whole shocking and ground-breaking scenario to life, with the impeccably conveyed world-weary drawl of a New York resident remembering for the first time in years how empowering - if terrifying - the riot was. He still recalled: "You know what's strange, I felt safer on the night of the riots, on the sidewalk in front of Stonewall, than I did in my own home town."

Shocking yet fabulous stuff. Here's Lexi himself talking about the play:

Alexis Gregory talks about Riot Act

Our host Paul himself faced some effort to follow that! He did so admirably, of course, with an extract from his own latest novel, the psychological thriller The Closer I Get - a tantalising snippet of the tale of best-selling author Tom and his coldly obsessive "stalker" Evie; he set the scene at a stage where the obsession seems apparently to have taken them as far as the courts, yet Evie refuses to let it be:

Listening to all the legal arguments today, I was struck by a number of things. One: what a mess we've made for ourselves! Two: what clever bastards these lawyers are. They twist everything, don't they? And three: wouldn't it be easier if we just sorted this our between ourselves?

I know we tried before, that night I waited for you outside your flat. Maybe if you'd invited me in instead of freaking out and calling the police, we could have resolved our differences there and then. We still could. It's not too late. Why make is harder than it needs to be? I'm willing to forgive and forget if you are.

Promise me you'll think about it. Sleep on it and email me in the morning. And if I don't hear from you, at least I'll know where I stand.

And I'll see you tomorrow in court.

Yours,

Evie

Chilling.



An evening of such impressive stature wouldn't be complete, of course, if one didn't get "Varjacked"! And by that, I of course refer to the one-woman whirlwind that is Ms Paula Varjack, lesbian-bisexual poetry's answer to Beyoncé...

We first saw the divine Ms V yonks ago, in 2011 in fact. She stunned us then, and she stunned us again, with her vehemently defiant readings of classics such as Dear Straight Girl [follow the link earlier in this paragraph for that] and more from her vast catalogue, plus this [or at least a brief extract thereof, courtesy of our host Paul] - a sublime musical monologue/paean to her own first encounter with our host venue, created especially for the evening:

Paula Varjack - I'm in Heaven

We love being Varjacked.



We've enjoyed the complete lunacy of the "Writer-in-Residence at the 197 bus stop on Croydon Road in Penge" Barbara Brownskirt many times before, of course. However, when accompanied/introduced by her very own cagoule-clad dance combo "The Brownskirts", we were in fits of laughter! Suitably fired-up by this Terpsichorean spectacle, we lapped up Ms B's delightfully tacky odes including Fabergé Eggs (Between Your Legs), Cruelty-Free Shoes and, of course, the crowd-pleaser Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Judi Dench!

Ms Karen McLeod, the woman behind the brown skirt, is an absolute genius...



Not to be outdone, the living icon that is Neil Bartlett, OBE - acclaimed writer, theatrical impresario and director, gay rights campaigner and utterly mesmerising thesp - took to the stage of the venue that was at one time his "second home". His monologue, all about his discovery of Hi-NRG pop, poppers and sleazy sex - with three men, in a cubicle, in the club [nah, Ive never done that; much] - all courtesy of Heaven in its heyday, led to a most bizarre conclusion.

Reciting, as Mr Bartlett did, the lyrics as if they were profound poetry, the audience found themselves singing along as one to (ahem)... Miss Belinda Carlisle!

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?
Ooh heaven is a place on earth
They say in heaven love comes first
We'll make heaven a place on earth
Ooh heaven is a place on earth

When I feel alone
I reach for you
And you bring me home
When I'm lost at sea
I hear your voice
And it carries me

In this world we're just beginning
To understand the miracle of living
Baby I was afraid before
But I'm not afraid anymore

I will look at that song in a very different light forever more.



Finally, headlining an evening of poetry, prose, drama, monologues and dance - a singer extraordinaire! Ms Adele Anderson (for it is she) is another beloved artiste here at Dolores Delargo Towers - we've seen her several times as a founding member of Fascinating Aida, and as a part of the ensemble of artistes hosted by the irrepressible Eve Ferret in her show. Now it was her turn as a solo act to provide the thrills...

She certainly didn't disappoint! Opening with a faboo "German" number - all "Marlene Dietrich-esque" growling vocals and and playing upon the homophone "Weill/Vile" - Adele just owned that stage for the next twenty minutes or so. Here's a clip [courtesy of Paul B again]:

Adele Anderson - That Old Kurt Weill Song (Ray Jessel)

Her takes on Tell Laura I Love Her, a number with which we are unfamiliar which I think was called Baby Let Me Wear Your Clothes, and - in particular - her stalker-ish take on the otherwise camp classic I Who Have Nothing were all fantastic. The audience gave her a much-deserved standing ovation.



This was just as well, as, following the customary "curtain call", the club's minions set to work collecting the chairs, and the DJ Dave Cross ascended to the stage...

...as he was setting up, we went outside en masse for a fag - and just so happened to bump into Our Sal, dragged her into the club, and we all had a bop for the rest of the evening to a load of 70s-80s-90s anthems. I ached. Oh, I ached...



It was one of the most fantabulosa nights out I can recall in a long time.

Our next outing for Polari looks particularly interesting, as the headliner is activist, writer and film producer (Milk) Dustin Lance Black. I am hoping his hubby, and avowed lust object of mine, Tom Daley turns up - I have my tickets. And clean knickers ready... Also appearing are authors Collin Kelley, Kelleigh Greenberg-Jephcott and Angela Chadwick.

We love Polari!

Farewell to the leopardskin

And so, farewell then, Mr Peter Stringfellow - that most flamboyant of entrepreneurs; the King of the Clubs (he ran music venues in his native Sheffield and Leeds from the early 60s - booking acts that included Rod Stewart, The Beatles and The Stones - before relocating to London to found his Soho "gentlemen's clubs" empire), his relentless talent for self-promotion made him a fortune, as well as carving himself a niche among Britain's long, long list of "famous eccentrics". His refusal to update his trademark mullet 'do, the gold and the bling, the velvet and the leopardskin, the occasional whiff of scandal, his numerous relationships with "dolly-birds" - he was as familiar a face in the tabloids as many genuine "stars". More often than not he was photographed with them, anyway!

Among his many lesser-known ventures was his launch of regular gay nights (on a mega-scale) at his flagship venue, The Hippodrome on Leicester Square, and his founding of a record company. Combining the two things quite neatly, his biggest signing was none other than the eternal gay icon Miss Dusty Springfield. Although she only recorded one song for Hippodrome Records - a slow number (albeit written by Donna Summer) called Sometimes like Butterflies - she did appear live at the club, to the joy of her mainly gay audience:

Dusty Springfield - All I See Is You/Put Your Hands Together (Live at The Hippodrome)

To round off in an appropriate vein, here's another Dusty number that is somewhat more fitting for our traditional end-of-week sign-off (as well as The Hippodrome dance-floor) - so why not hairspray yourself into oblivion, get your hands in the air, and Thank Disco It's Friday - with Baby Blue!

Dusty Springfield - Baby Blue

RIP Peter James Stringfellow (17th October 1940 – 7th June 2018)

No homo!

Russ, Joe and I got last-minute tickets to see a rare gem on Sunday - a traditional cabaret session in one of the quirkiest of throwbacks to "Old Soho" (and rapidly becoming one of our favourite haunts), the "compact and bijou" Phoenix Artist Club on Charing Cross Road.

This was not a big-name show by any stretch of the imagination, but the excellent voices of our performers - Matt Bateman (Phantom of the Opera - Her Majesty’s Theatre, Crazy For You - Watermill Theatre), Shani Cantor (Boys in the Buff - Kings Head Theatre, FatBusters The Musical - Park Theatre), Christina Meehan (Mamma Mia - Royal Caribbean, Thoroughly Modern Millie - Landor Theatre) and Jamie Ross (Footloose - UK & Belgium Tour, Loserville - Union Theatre) - were polished, professional and utterly bewitching. Mr Ross in particular was very pleasing to the eye...

Their self-chosen repertoire, too, was largely unknown (well, with one or two exceptions, it was to us, anyhow!), but melded beautifully - songs loosely tied together on the subject of self-doubt, hesitance and longing for love, such as these two hilarious numbers:

Anderson Davis and Natalie Weiss - The Temp and the Receptionist (by Kooman and Dimond)

Matt DeAngelis and Brandon Ellis - The Bro Duet (by Alexander Sage Oyen)

Utter genius - and in the hands of our talented foursome, part of a fantastic afternoon's entertainment.

I sincerely hope this becomes a regular event at the Phoenix Club; I most certainly will be clamouring for a seat!

"Frying tonight!"

We've had a bit of a hectic weekend, all told - topped off by spending five-and-a-half hours in the blazing sunshine (the hottest day of the year so far) revisiting the magnificence of Kew Gardens today...

But yesterday afternoon was spent in far different surroundings - the Phoenix Artist Club, a gloriously atmospheric (and "typically Soho") basement members' club under the Phoenix Theatre. And what would possibly draw us away from the delights of hot'n'steamy London in midsummer?

An audience with the timeless siren Miss Fenella Fielding, of course!

Now in her 90th year, Miss Fielding is one of the most captivating of "English eccentrics", and, although frail, remains utterly composed, witty and adroit. Most famous for her on-screen "posh vamp" roles in such movies as Drop Dead Darling, The Old Dark House, and, of course, her most famous role as "Valeria Watt" in Carry On Screaming, nevertheless her long, long acting career has encompassed many stage roles of a "weightier" (if wildly disparate) nature - including in plays by Ibsen, Shakespeare and Henry James, a one-woman show on the life and works of Collette, a musical version of Ronald Firbank's Valmouth, a dramatised performance of the letters between Nancy Mitford and Evelyn Waugh, and revues written by Harold Pinter(!) and Peter Cook.

And it was for her sumptuous reading of chapters from her memoir (named after the most-quoted line from Carry On Screaming - "Do you mind if I smoke?") that we devoted our Saturday. She has all the gen" on many of the famous names of theatre and film - she turned Fellini down for a role he was chasing her for; and worked with numerous stars of her day including Ron Moody (who encouraged her early career), Kenneth Williams, Dirk Bogarde, Tony Curtis and Janette Scott. Yet, had her parents (particularly her father) had their way, she would never have got to RADA, nor landed the parts in revue that began her career. One of the anecdotes she gave us was of her experiences of running away, ending up in rather swanky yet Bohemian digs in Mayfair, and how her mother and auntie finally caught up with her (as she was in the bath!).

Other pieces she read included her time as a tutor for drama students - imparting such invaluable advice on "technique" as how to sit in a chair on stage without fumbling, performing in panto, and how to successfully do an "audience aside"; and she also treated us to some little vignettes of Fenella the naive schoolgirl, such as this one:

Fenella Fielding at the Phoenix - The less you know, the easier it is to get into trouble

This was a superb event, and we loved it!

Facts:

• Miss Fielding was turned down the role of the first female "Avenger" opposite Patrick McNee, in favour of Honor Blackman.
• In The Prisoner, hers was the voice of the Village Announcer throughout the series.
• She was the voice of "the Blue Queen" in cult children's classic Dougal and the Blue Cat.
• Her older brother (also still alive) is the Tory peer Lord Feldman.

Fenella has one further date in the series of readings to promote her memoir, but she has many more plans up her sleeve and shows no sign of stopping - all the news is, or will be, on her official website.

Welcome to the Diva's tea party again

A host of fellow former "Blitz Kids" (including Pinkietessa) were there, as was Polari regular Simon (without Bryanne), the "Whos" were out in force - former DJ at (our log-gone gay haunt) BarCode, writer and scandalous bon vivant Stewart Who and his sister - and the place was packed with friends, fans, arty types, and the generally bemused...

...it could only be a show by the very lovely Eve Ferret [once described in a review as “A gutsy old bird with knockers like two ostrich eggs in a hammock!”], couldn't it?!

And so it was that Paul, John-John and I ventured to territories new, the Sanctum Soho Hotel (a venue famous for styling itself as "rock star chic") on Thursday - for what Eve billed as her "Fabaret" show "The Hungry Whelk"! As ever, Miss Ferret did not disappoint...

A marked change from her large-scale Arts Theatre shows (we've been to see four - see here, here, here and here), Eve nonetheless managed to cram in all of her more (ahem) interactive turns into this rather more intimate cabaret space - including the throwing of mangetout into the audience and her now-famous "crowd-surf" (by proxy of a doll, of course) - as well as treating us to a customarily bizarre mixture of musical numbers, everything from Little Donkey (well, 'tis the season) to This Town Ain’t Big Enough For Both Of Us to a selection of vulgar reggae numbers to her own pithy Congratulations, You Got Me.

All our faves were there - including the Peignoir Song, Last Night's Paté and Divas' Tea Party - and much, much, more. We adored it. The audience gave her rapturous applause. Once again, Eve Ferret proved herself to be one of the most entertaining cabaret artistes on the circuit - there really is no-one else like her!

Here is the lady herself with one of her more autobiographical numbers - Pimlico Belle

Eve Ferret - Pimlico Belle

Eve Ferret official website

Bangs, burlesque and the downright bizarre

On Thursday, Madam Arcati and I were pleased to get tickets for an event at one of our favourite cabaret venues, the Matcham Room at London's glittering Hippodrome - High Lights, billed as "an old style variety show", and hosted by none other than our old fave Dexter Clark, Mayfair’s foremost celebrity hairdresser!

The creation of the simply faboo Roger Lloyd-Thompson, Dexter was (like so many others) someone with whom I first made contact many years ago courtesy of MySpace, and we have followed his career as he emerged from that now-diminished site, via YouTube (unfortunately most of his classic video moments have now gone from there), to his storming live shows (see here and here). Having heard nothing of him for years, it was indeed good to have him back - and just as dismissive as ever of his celebrity clients (Kate Moss (“chemical streak”), Rebecca Brooks (“tawdry mane”), Katie Price (“thick up top”), Kerry Katona (“council house bangs”) and Britney Spears (“Mississippi muddy blonde”) among them).



His role on this occasion was not just to regale us with tales of his magnificent life, but also to introduce a swathe of other acts - or "interruptions" as he preferred to call them - to the Matcham Room stage.

So we were entertained (to varying degrees, admittedly) by the talented burlesque artiste Miss Giddy Heights (who opened the show with a rather fun piss-take of Kate Middleton, complete with willing helper from the audience as Wills, and closed it as a smutty Marie Antoinette), and by the bizarre Johnny MacCaulay (who performed as "Elvis - The Burger King of Rock and Roll", and in the second half, as a clown illusionist).





The internationally-renowned Romany, Diva of Magic (she's performed for Judi Dench, Johnny Depp, Mick Jagger and HM The Queen, though possibly not at the same time) grabbed Tony up onto the stage as her stooge, which was quite bewildering, but fun...



Miss Velma von Bon Bon was fab both as a sharp-shooting cowgirl riding a large pink-feathered "terror-bird" and a "drunken" burlesque aerialist, prat-falling from some rather alarming heights. Funniest of all, however, was the oddball duo Raymond & Mr Timkins (described by The Guardian as "a mad, anarchic triumph of stupidity over style; not to be missed"), whose madcap high-speed medley of songs based around a series of visual props was a joy to behold, and had us rocking in our seats.

This was a great night out, and lived up to its description. We thoroughly enjoyed it (as did fellow Polari-ites Bryanne and Simon). We look forward to more from dear Dexter, now he's out of rehab back in business!

Of course, the last word goes to Mr Clark himself, in this exposé:

Dexter Clark Celebrity Hairdresser - Celebrity Scandals

More about Dexter Clark

Voice of the Beehive

Yesterday was - according to the more sensational of the tabloids - "Blue Monday", apparently the most depressing day of the year.

Our little gang was anything but "blue" last night, however. For (thanks to Wayne) we (Paul, little Tony, Bryanne, Simon and two more of Wayne's chums) had tickets to see none other than The Neasden Queen of Soul herself, Miss Mari Wilson singing her own interpretations from the songbook of our most mourned Patron Saint of Soul, Miss Dusty Springfield!





I had never been to the Jazz Café at Pizza Express in Soho before, and it is everything one might expect of its name... Occupying an atmospheric dark basement space that must at one time have played host to some of the more - ahem - "colourful" characters who traditionally inhabited our city's entertainment heartland [although not for very much longer if the bullies and vandals of Westminster Council have their way!], the ambience is utterly suited to intimate cabaret shows. And it serves pizza, of course.

Thus, as we finished off our over-priced Italian street-food, the divine former beehive-wearer took to our stage and captivated us from the outset. Miss Wilson is so loveable, so utterly down-to-earth in the way she engages her audience in chit-chat and asides, it is always a jolt to the senses when she opens her mouth and those marvellously powerful-yet-smooth jazzy vocals take over.



Dusty's music really does suit Mari's voice (unsurprisingly in 2000, Mari was the obvious choice to portray our diva in the hugely successful nationwide tour of Dusty the Musical). All of our favourites were here - I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten, Son of a Preacher Man, The Look of Love, I Just Don't Know What to Do with Myself, In Private, Son of a Preacher Man, Some Of Your Lovin', Am I The Same Girl?, Spooky and Brand New Me among them, and she did every one proud in the course of her two-hour set.

Among the highlights were her sublime, slow re-interpretation of I Only Want To Be With You, a truly spine-tingling rendition of Goin' Back, the most beautiful version of How Can I Be Sure?, and, best (and campest) of the lot - her melodramatic arrangement of Twenty-Four Hours from Tulsa, which gave her fab pianist an almost "Liszt-ian" moment, as with crescendo after piano crescendo, she twisted every emotion to its fullest ("I hate to do this to you; but I love somebody new. What can I do? And I can never, never, never...go home again..."). I was left utterly breathless. Sheer genius.

This was an unforgettably wonderful evening, and a bloody good way to start off the "Social Calendar" for 2014!

Here is Miss Wilson with just two of the numbers she sang for us last night:

Mari Wilson - How Can I Be Sure?

Mari Wilson - I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten

Mari Wilson official website

Glitterati

John-John, little Tony and I had a lovely time at the book launch of Killer Heels by our friend Lauren Henderson (aka Rebecca Chance) last night. It was packed to the gunnels with the Polari-ite literary glitterati - Paul Burston, Helen Smith, DJ Connell (to whom I am grateful for the photos), former Corrie actress-turned-author Tracy Brabin and many more besides. No sign of Celia Imrie (who was supposed to appear) however.

The venue, the Century Club in swanky Shaftesbury Avenue in Soho, was a very smart affair indeed. So, as we hurtle headlong into another weekend, what else could I play today but... Chic?

Get your Elnett out, pull on your smartest chiffon number and best sling-backs, and - Everybody Dance!

Chic - Everybody Dance

Thank Disco It's Friday!

Rebecca Chance Killer Heels

Down in your alleys, seems that anything goes

Last night was quite possibly one of the most popular book launches I have ever attended! Such is the love and respect that Mr Clayton Littlewood (author of the marvellous Dirty White Boy) evidently commands...

Soho's wonderfully atmospheric Madame JoJo's club (one of the last surviving throwbacks to the classic era of that "sleazy city" full of "seedy films") was absolutely packed to the gunnels with the great and the good (and possibly the not-so-good) of the literary, entertainment, and hedonistic worlds. As I mentioned earlier, I was overjoyed to see people who I hadn't seen for ages - among others, Rupert Smith, Dom Agius, Stewart Who?, Kenneth Hill, Uli Lenart from Gay's the Word, and Roger Lloyd-Thompson (aka Dexter Clark the Celebrity Hairdresser). But more of him later...

Mr Littlewood was, of course, sharing the spotlight of the evening with the adorable Maggie & Martin, whose songs interspersed Clay's own appearances on stage. Launching their first album as a duo Union, Maggie K De Monde is famous for her chart success with her bands Swans Way and Scarlet Fantastic, and Martin Watkins is best known for his work writing and performing with Marc Almond. Their appearance last night was particularly meaningful, as it was through their mutual friend Mr Littlewood that they first got in contact with each other (via MySpace), and began writing together.



Here's their excellent single Night Of A Thousand Stars:

Maggie & Martin - Night Of A Thousand Stars

To launch his new book Goodbye to Soho, Clayton first introduced us to the back-story to it all - leaving sleepy Weston-Super-Mare in pursuit of Marc Almond, meeting Quentin Crisp, meeting hubby Jorge, setting up the shop (also called Dirty White Boy) in Old Compton Street under a notorious brothel, the madness of living in the middle of London's most eccentric and sleazy part of town, and of course the many and varied characters they encountered, that inspired Clay to first write his experiences down in his MySpace blog (via which, of course, I first got to meet him).

And, with the more-than-able assistance of Mr Lloyd-Thompson, playing all the characters - transsexual Angie (who was sat in the booth right next to us in the audience!), the wonderfully bitter old queen Leslie, thong fetishist Charlie, brothel madam Sue and her dodgy plumbing - were brought once more vividly to life in a series of joyful (if familiar; we went to see it not once, but twice!) scenes from the stage version of Dirty White Boy.

Clayton Littlewood and Roger Lloyd-Thompson at Polari Soho

Each scene was wonderfully done, and the interplay between Roger and Clay was hilarious. After the break, the story continued - but this time concentrating more on the later years of their Soho life. The shop wasn't doing well, their close friend Chico was dying in prison, the brothel had been raided just one too many times, and a move was inevitable. However, some of the loose ends had been tied up - Leslie had rediscovered his long-lost love (in fact the self-same Charlie the knicker specialist), and the lovely Angie was doing better than ever.

But as the new book continues where the old one leaves off, the situation is grounded in the saddest ending of them all. Clay has dedicated the book to his dear friend - the most decadent, the most sleazy, the most eccentric of them all, the late, great Sebastian Horsley, whose own death was a huge shock to the Soho community. At his funeral procession - a typically understated Victorian carriage hearse pulled by two dressed black horses around the streets of the West End - thousands turned out to give him a big send-off. And with Clayton's sublime recollections, his memory will never be lost.

By way of my own little tribute to the whole evening, here's the man who inspires everyone in Soho - Mr Marc Almond, with Seedy Films:

Soft Cell - Seedy Films

This was a marvellous night, an excellent venue, and a wonderful turnout for a book launch. It was a shame that Jorge (manning the bookstall) had no debit card facility otherwise I would have purchased a copy of Goodbye to Soho and got Clayton to sign it. Never mind, it's yet another excuse to keep in touch...

Goodbye to Soho is available through Clayton's website.

Maggie & Martin's Union is available from HMV.

And, in a great bit of news, Dexter Clark's "Fabulous Head" comes to the Leicester Square Theatre in June and July 2012! A must-see!

The Queen of Soho

I found this utterly charming...

[click photo for audio slideshow]
http://www.littleitalysoho.co.uk/

Bona to varda your fab cartzo

Another fab time was had by all at the first anniversary of Polari last night. And with a flair befitting such an august institution, the literary bent chosen for the occasion was every boy and girl's favourite subject - PORN!

Hosted by the porn-bedecked Paul Burston (he sews the cock-pics on himself you know), our evening's readings were kicked off in great style by the larger-than-life Jacqui Applebee, who describes herself as "a black bisexual woman, who breaks down barriers with smut".

And she certainly lived up to her description, with a smattering of one of her lesbian fantasy stories and a great poem about orgasm - which got the audience (of both sexes) twitching, and no mistake!

Jacqueline ApplebeeWriting in Shadows

Our shining star, however, was the lovely Rupert Smith, appearing last night as his pornographic author alter ego James Lear ("James - my middle name. Lear - because I was Amanda Lear's first husband.").



Not only did he read his first smutty passage (from The Secret Tunnel) entirely in Polari, but, after a rather wonderfully graphic extract (from The Back Passage) about cottaging we were treated to a lascivious flash of his impressive golden winged phallus. This of course was the recent trophy he received as James Lear at the Erotic Awards 2008.

Rupert Smith on porn, as featured in The Independent

Celine cooled the throbbing groins with her own particular brand of smut, singing a couple of numbers from her Music Hall repertoire, to the delight of the well-fed audience (thanks to the Trash Palace for feeding us!)



And, sated with lust of the ear, superb writing and superb company, we trolled downstairs to sample the disco-licious delights of Paul's DJ set (having already whooped with joy at DJ Dom Agius's Baccara'n'Grace Jones extravaganza at the beginning of the evening).

Unfortunately, the dance floor appeared to be lit by the kind of fluorescent bulbs that wouldn't look out of place in a dentist's surgery, and every seat in the house had been dragged to the centre of the floor by what seemed to be the entire population of Fiorenza, complete with shopping bags and animated non-stop talking over every track. Realising that this was not going to descend into a sticky-floored disco dream as on previous occasions, we ended up sadly finishing off our gins far too early and heading for the Tube...

However, the night was fantabulosa - and I look forward to the next one (Bloggers' Night!!) in December starring Dirty White Boy author Clayton Littlewood.

I love Clay's writing, and I am almost finished reading the book - I hope there will be a second one soon so I can learn more about his early sexual encounters on Weston-Super-Mare pier...

Polari

["Bona to varda your fab cartzo" - Polari slang = "lovely to see your great cock"]

The key is to dress in such a style that you would attract attention at a Liberace concert

We had the most fabulous night at Polari last night! The Trash Palace was rammed to the gunnels with a real cross-section of gayers - from the grande dame Bette Bourne and queen diva Marc Almond, to a smattering of studenty types in Doc Martins, and some shouty lesbians.



All were gathered to listen to the "art freak" (© News of the Screws) Sebastian Horsley - in turn insulting, challenging and entertaining the audience with passages from his book Dandy In The Underworld. And what a captivating man Sebastian turned out to be, practically salivating while revealing the prurient details of his obsessive dandyism, drug addiction and hyper-sexual life.

In his own words:

"So what is dandyism? Dandyism is a form of self-worship which dispenses with the need to find happiness from others - especially women. And yet the estrangement of the thorough going dandy is not from women, but from life. It is taking up a posture of ironic detachment from the world and living it out in scrupulous detail.

"Dandyism is social, human and intellectual. It is not a suit of clothes walking about by itself. Clothes are merely a part - they may even be the least important part of the personality of the dandy. Dandyism isn't image encrusted with flourishes. It's a way of stripping yourself down to your true self. You can only judge the style by the content and you can only reach the content through the style.

"Being a dandy is a condition rather than a profession. It is a defiance against suffering and a celebration of life. It is not fashion; it is not wealth; it is not learning; it is not beauty. It is a shield and a sword and a crown - all pulled out of the dressing up box in the attic of the imagination. Dandyism is a lie which reveals the truth, and the truth is that we are what we pretend to be."

Dandy in the Underworld on Amazon

I loved it! And once the superb reading was over, we made every effort to recreate a microcosm of that truth, as Paul Burston and Dom Agius once more provided their twisted, eclectic, decadent brand of disco for the rest of the evening.

Dandies - us?



As a "Polari virgin" I am hooked. I can't wait for the next one, at which we not only have two Duffys for the price of one (Maureen and Stella) doing the readings from their works, but also the lovely Celine (who provided the brilliant Music Hall opening numbers for Marc Almond at Wiltons earlier this year)!

Polari