The 3rd Chap Anarcho-Dandy Ball

3rd Chap Anarcho Ball.

The 3^rd Chap Anarcho Ball tore a chunk out of London nightlife, dipped it in absinthe and spread gentleman’s relish all over it on the 10th of December. It was a good night and as it turned out I didn’t need my patented steampunk-fabricated fake tache evaporator after all as the fake moustache was not much in evidence. The Dandy Massive appeared in great numbers, the bars of Tangiers must have been lonely that night. The mystery flappers were there later in the evening: a bit like the Spanish Inquisition, those giggling little groups of girls who just turn up randomly at vintage events clutching pink drinks, do they have some kind of strange psychic 'place were we can wear a feathery head band' sat-nav? Where do they come from? The Chap Ball lures all kinds of strange moths to its flame.

Cutting a rug.

Corralled and chivvied by red haired siren Bethan the event ran smoothly and louchely. The secretary service this year even provided a choice of era, Madmen missy or Miss Lemonkissy? An impossible choice. Gustav Temple the editor lurked in the shadows like a dapper Mephistopheles watching lost souls damn themselves to torment or at the very least a respectable hangover. Viv the Spiv was an avuncular and welcome presence, a girl never knows when she’ll need some of those, ahem, 'frisky' pills ("brought back by a pal of mine from Rangoon..’onest!"). There was a secret 'Hush Hush Hooch' bar emulating speakeasies from across the pond but also with hints of oldVictorian gin windows, we were in King’s Cross after all. The band were good, MC Elemental did something on stage that involved a monkey mask but at that point I was deeply involved in a serious philosophical discussion about the correct route to adopt when trawling around bars in Soho; clockwise? anti-clockwise? in order of exclusivity or desperation? We decided you start with Quo Vadis and end in Trish’s, quite literally if you are not careful. You see, important questions are debated at these events, I won’t tell you what I learned about wallpaper paste.

Perturbed by the AtterDalek

People were splendidly turned out, although the bearded one did hiss about 'teaching the whippersnappers how to wear black tie'. Something about a lack of waistcoats I gather. My favourite variation on black tie was Atter’s Dalek ensemble. Especially when we realised that his whisk appendage was only attached with Velcro. Daleks are, of course, chaps and the fellow with the national grid inspired whistle was also an enlightening sight (sorry). It was a pleasure to yell at Farhan and Ed out of the loo windows (classy as ever) and to dance (badly as ever) towards the end of the evening. The only booze spilt down my grey silk ballgown was gin so that was also a result.

Myself and the lovely Tracy.

For me the Chap Ball and the New Sheridan Club Christmas party are the joint high points of the festive party season. Some of you might have seen the latter’s summer party as part of Watch’s 'A very British party' documentary series? This year the theme was Tinker, Tailor, Dandy, Spy. You’ll have found me in the Russian sector with a glass of fizzy wine nosing out the trendy trots due a purge, or at least exile to Dalston.

Many thanks to Tony Lee for use of the photographs.

Chaps who wear fezzes.

Hush hush hooch.

Viv the Spiv

Note illuminated suit to the left..

Big night out = Life is never simple

I don't want to look like this......

I want to look like this !

An event to go to, in this case the wonderful Chap Ball. Huzzah! What could be wrong with this? The Chap magazine celebrates Anarcho-chappism in a dada-situationist way, it will not be full of Twatkids or Hooray Henrys but friends. There hasn't been one for 10 years, I love the acts so what can happen.

Almost Immediately, being female, the challenge of apparel rears it's head. How I envy the chaps who just grow some whiskers and whip out their finest tweed/black tie/all in one pvc romper suit. Suddenly I start thinking, long skirt? short skirt? hair? up? down? makeup? hell I don't want sleeveless, or if I do I will have to buy a bolero or shrug, ooops oh no more money, I don't have any money, everyone has more money than me, everyone is younger than me, and slimmer, and can wear sleeveless and WAAAAAAHHHH!

So I find myself wandering through the hell that is Oxford Street on a damp Friday suspiciously eyeing up a selection of eye wateringly tacky sequinned shifts, I love sequins but if I were one I would be offended. Wagdom via a 1980's that I really don't recall, and I was there. I give up on the shops catering for the young and cheap with the short and cheap and head for the more ..ahem.. stately department stores. More luck here, try on a few dresses and they are all terrible, or rather a foot too long, with no waist. I finally find one, emerald green, quite a late 40s/50's look and with a little bit of sparkly stuff to stop me looking too matronly. Also its an unusual colour, not at all in fashion, quite unusual really. Turns out that two other friends are planning to wear green, it wouldn't matter if it were not for the fact that both are a) extremely pretty b) very svelte and c) much much younger than me. Otherwise the team green photographs would be fun, but little old round me next to two Chap magazine pin-ups? hmmmm. I think again, and order a dark blue dress on-line and am hoping vaguely that it might actually fit me. If not I will wear the green and embrace my elder stateswoman status by getting drunk, wandering around burping and telling everyone that the noughties are 'pants' and generally being an old bag.

Dress worries aside, my skin has decided to go wrong, it always does when I have something nice to go to, whenever I want to look ill, ie after I have been ill and return to work it looks perfectly fine. But what am I worrying about? two glasses of cava in and my face will be bright pink....
which brings me on to the subject of whether having my hair dyed a marmalade colour on Friday is a good idea? Still I think of Vivienne Westwood.. she gets away with it. I'm not even going to go down the shoe road, it leads to a circle of hell, you know the one with lots of women impaled on the massive heels of Jimmy Choos they cannot afford. Weariness envelopes me if I cogitate on the subject of jewellery and accessories and as for make-up, pah! Well it will all go wrong on the night, my skin will fall off and I'll end up looking quite a lot like Vivienne Westwood...

Only one thing for it: to remember the bearded one seems to like me whatever I wear, to recall that red hair is the rarest type in nature or un-nature and that the thing is to have a bit of a spree. So I plan to have fun, drink bubbles and have a laff. Even if I do look like a little round Christmas tree - do say hello if you see me there!