* 200 articles. Two years. Whelk. The best of Upsideclown. Might be reprinted.

One Night in Heaven

22 October 2001
Could you pass George the talc?

I'd wanted to go to [Fetish Club X] for some time when my housemate suggested it. There was an entire Fetish Weekend being organised in London including a trade fair and a Ball, but Jan and I could only afford the Friday night down in [South London suburb]. After making and modelling our outfits to friends - employing large amounts of rivets, grey dye, corsets, rubber strips, pink fluorescent netting and big big black boots for both of us - we took the train to London and got there at about 11.

Even in the queue outside you could feel the atmosphere bubbling. My costume, which had seemed so outrageous and fabulous in our little suburban house, now seemed little and suburban compared to some of the wild creatures lined up around me. Those which I remember - a hoard of drag queens tiny diamante bikinis huddled together for warmth; a priest and a vampire chatting away; and lots of PVC nurses. The dress code was stricter than I'd thought it'd be. Jan was interrogated about whether her clothes contained any rubber, leather, PVC or lingerie (the rubber bodice was what got her in), and there were signs all the way up to the cloakroom warning us that the penalty for being found in "non-suitable attire" was eviction. Jan and I put on our make-up in the loos, helped to glue a young girl into her spiked bodice, then tottered off to explore.

There were four main areas - an eclectic dance area, a hard house area, a chill-out room and a dungeon. The eclectic area was ace, and I spent a lot of time strutting my stuff in there. Every time I went to take the weight off my 5-inch spike heels, another top tune would start and I'd stagger back to the dancefloor to carry on. I can't remember any of the specific songs which was played but Jan swears that a Mike Flowers-remix of Radiohead's "Creep" was spun early on. They played some Pulp at the end of the night too.

The hard house area was - harder. Every film you've seen that's had a scene in an underground New York/ London fuck-club warehouses, with people dancing nearly naked on the podiums to hard hard thrashing music, and porn still flashed on giant screens, and the police burst in looking for their child-porn baron (who's Joaquin Phoenix or possibly a scuzzed-up Brad Pitt) who's fondling a girl in a latex bikini by the bar - it was like that. But it wasn't as fun as the other rooms (and I'd seen all of the David LaChapelle pictures on the screens before) so I didn't stay there long but just used it as a walkway through to the dungeon.

When Jan and I arrived the dungeon was half-full, and the amazing toys and equipment were being admired by the crowd but not utilised. By 2 in the morning though the area was much fuller and sweatier. There was a queue for the St Andrews Cross and the cages, and the curtains sealing off the Dark Area were heaving gently. I felt that some of the equipment wouldn't have looked out of place in an ancient remote Scottish castle, and some seemed have been transported directly from any good university viral-investigation laboratory. One quibble - the "ambient" music being pumped through was a little too ambient, and at time came close to whale songs. Good comfortable sofas though, and hoardes of men willing to act as footrests.

And everyone was so friendly! On the train up I had been nervous, unsure of what rules of etiquette would be held. Jan helped me out with some - never talk to a slave directly, and always ask the master/mistress if you can touch them, not the slave themselves - but the good-nature of everyone in there dispelled all of my worries. I met a giant Cornish goth, his girlfriend and their slave, and a girl who I'd seen a few weeks previously in Tate Modern, and recognised her by her painted eyebrows. The latter had a cute goth boyfriend who Jan and I both lusted after but (despite his willingness) did little about. Lots of Americans had also come over for the entire weekend: I spoke to a guy in a leather kilt, and another guy with a wide selection of whips, including a soft one made of kangaroo hide. Whilst Jan was off looking for goth boys in skirts, I chatted to a trio of Croatian girls in lingerie whilst queues of men in leather trousers lined up to lick their feet. There was also a stunning man who was the best dancer that I'd ever seen, in leather trousers, a long leather coat, a leather cowboy hat and shades - if you recognise yourself, email me! You were beautiful.

The morning arrived faster than Jan and I expected. The spike heels were finally taken off and we caught the first tube back to Victoria. It was all wonderful -given the space constraints and the public nature of this area, I haven't detailed everything that happened that night. Suffice to say that a lot of the rivets had fallen off by the end of the night and the whip-marks didn't fade for a fortnight. I'm definitely hoping to go to the Christmas event, and was thinking of a red rubber corset or dress with a white tinsel trim and boots, sort of a Mistress Xmas. See you there?


This is the fucking archive

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
10 November 2003. George writes: Dead beat
20 October 2003. George writes: Shortening
29 September 2003. George writes: Manhattanites are Cleavage-Starved
11 September 2003. George writes: How to Bring Us in Line With the Future
18 August 2003. George writes: Slashtastic
28 July 2003. George writes: Underground Independent Small Press Comic Fight Club
7 July 2003. George writes: Careering
16 June 2003. George writes: Choose your own adventure
26 May 2003. George writes: Revelations
8 May 2003. George writes: Picture Perfect
14 April 2003. George writes: MetaPirate
24 March 2003. George writes: Preparation X
3 March 2003. George writes: F of x
13 February 2003. George writes: Three is the magic number
23 January 2003. George writes: Recorded Delivery
30 December 2002. George writes: Meat Bingo or Death
12 December 2002. George writes: Royal Inquisitor
21 November 2002. George writes: This Clown is Cancelled
28 October 2002. George writes: Shopping with God
3 October 2002. George writes: SaferSpoony
16 September 2002. George writes: Supercalanthropomorphicexpealidocious
26 August 2002. George writes: The deformed animal menagerie
5 August 2002. George writes: Plaice that Funky Music, Whitebait
15 July 2002. George writes: Safe as Houses
24 June 2002. George writes: Two Lions (DB/DS)
30 May 2002. George writes: Series 8
9 May 2002. George writes: Market Stall
11 April 2002. George writes: I, the Enlargened, Crunchy Product
18 March 2002. George writes: Cakexterminator
21 February 2002. George writes: Fiction Suit
28 January 2002. George writes: Spunk Gunk
31 December 2001. George writes: Fairytale of New Pork
10 December 2001. George writes: Circular
15 November 2001. George writes: A Man With No Ass Is No Man At All
22 October 2001. George writes: One Night in Heaven
27 September 2001. George writes: Uncut
3 September 2001. George writes: Porn Pants
9 August 2001. George writes: Names of the Roses
19 July 2001. George writes: No Fun Here
21 June 2001. George writes: All Your Elections are Belong to Us
28 May 2001. George writes: Pierced as Fuck
3 May 2001. George writes: My Lovely Horse
9 April 2001. George writes: Eight Hundred and Forty-Three
12 March 2001. George writes: Kill 'Em All
19 February 2001. George writes: Formal
25 January 2001. George writes: Sticks and stones
11 January 2001. George writes: A Thought on Morality
11 December 2000. George writes: You can't put that into a soufflé
13 November 2000. George writes: Lyrical Genius
19 October 2000. George writes: Wet wet wet wet wet
25 September 2000. George writes: Built on an Indian burial ground
31 August 2000. George writes: This Way
31 July 2000. George writes: Runt of the Litter

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