The annual argument about the wearing of Nazi uniforms in public fetish space is upon us, a vital part of the season, where a long pointless argument with no possible winner carries on until both sides bore each other into submission. A handful of berks wear swastikas in clubs, exuding all the dark majesty of an amateur production of ‘Ello ‘Ello, rather than than the Satanic menace they may have been intending. Tourists and beginners won’t know that the world famous fetish club Torture Garden has a hardcore group of middle aged art students still trying to shock Mummy and Daddy. But they are all too well aware that fascists are making gains politically worldwide and that some maim and murder their opponents. While it is fairly obvious that no genuine Nazis visit fetish clubs wearing swastikas and SS uniforms, it is still extremely tasteless to give genuine offense to strangers who may have lost family members in the Holocaust.
But you can’t pass a law to outlaw fancy dress – although I wouldn’t put it past our One Nation Under CCTV government – where’s the libertarian Tory freedom wing when you need them?
In the stating-the-bleeding-obvious, stultifyingly dull, politically correct killjoy corner, often socialists amazingly enough, we have various worthy bores, some overgrown students, lots of people who can’t spell, (Guardian readers? Or just their sub-editors?) and The Firm’s indefatigable master of ceremonies Ishmael Skyes. Who now resembles a debauched Harry Potter since shaving off a hideously unkempt full beard. Which made him resemble an Old Testament prophet wandering the streets of Camden with a can of Tenants. He allows uniforms but no swastikas at his events, surely the most sensible solution. His CP oriented events are less glamorous than Torture Garden, to put it mildly, but often much more fun, cheaper and friendlier. As ever, there is no shortage of morbidly obese Dommes with delusions of grandeur, high on their own supply (of crap), taking every chance to kick men in the nuts – not always a figure of speech. You might also meet the odd poisonous Trout with Gout, generally with a fag on and pint glass in hand, skewed glasses, a bedraggled mass of greasy hair on top of her shapeless, beer barrel body (lovely!).
Ignore them, unless you’re one of the growing army of self hating worms, slithering slowly forward to slimy oblivion. These are hot parties and deserve support. Ish puts in a lot of hard work in and the profits, if any, are miniscule. Running an quasi-mystical sect of s/m perverts isn’t a license to print money, quite the opposite. The Firm is what you make it, the fun and games require participation. You’ll get much more out of it than standing and gawping. If you fancy a raunchy night out with no fashion elitists, crowds, very loud music or having to wait outside as they’re not ready yet, (as at Torture Garden) then check out The Firm. Beginners very welcome. And leave the Swastikas in the bin.
The Life Literary (hat tip, Ed Reardon, Radio 4’s most irascible oppressed writer)
The war’s over and the nerds won. If Martin Amis, recent recipient of the National Book award for lifetime achievement, were writing ‘Siege of Planet Phlong 17’ his publisher would be awaiting next manuscript with impatience, not dreading whether s/he is going to get a family memoir about Stalin with an incomprehensible title or something journalists will rubbish without reading it (next year’s ‘State of England’). Although Mr Amis is correct. And the jealous female columnists utterly wrong. If you can’t have a go at Katie ‘Jordan’ Price, (forthcoming in ‘State of England’) – an absent mother and a rude, talentless moron who isn’t even good looking, which was supposed to be the point of her, England really is in a right ‘two and eight’…(cockney crim rhyming slang, for our American friends).