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..

Chap Anarcho Dandy Ball Saturday 5th December

As some know the bearded one is very involved with that remarkable publication 'The Chap Magazine' which celebrated it's tenth anniversary with a ball at Holborn's Conway Hall on Saturday the 5th of December. In view of this fact and the rarity of Chap parties (the last being five years previously) it was highly anticipated. Red legs put on her favourite 30's evening hat, a long frock and some slap and headed off into a rainy night....

The venue is an interesting spot, a gathering place for humanist and ethical groups it was an intriguing combination of fine wooden panelled town hall circa 1930, school gymnasium from Daisy Pulls it Off and Scout hut. I was particularly taken with the jellyfish panel on one corridor wall featuring sea life made out of mysterious plastic substances. Upon entering the hall one was greeted by a charming trio of chaps singing cheerily and playing the saw. Also by the entrance was a stall selling little cakes and sausage rolls, untouched early in the evening a few hours and several gins later guests fell upon them. In addition there was the Mao Tse Tung lounge run by the stellar Louise, a Hendricks gin bar and the main hall.

The atmosphere was interesting, the guests were an amalgam of various distinct groups, nearly all were dressed up to the nines, those that were not stood out. What a pleasant change from the pervading norm! As Twin and Tonic and Mr B performed I had a fine view from the balcony. It revealed gothy ladies in peacock feathers twirling to Glenn Miller tunes, chaps in tweed plus fours waving their pipes in the air and throwing shapes and the skillful and not so skillful dancing, completely democratically to whatever music played. The floor was littered with paper aeroplanes from an act I had missed but which were intermittently retrieved and hurled through the air to land in surprised chapettes' gin and tonics. The acts I saw were good, but I missed many. More fun was to be had catching up with people not seen for an age. It was a pleasure to see the military uniforms from various eras, the steam punk contingent combining tweed with mechanical swagger, Vivienne of Holloway giggling with a small coterie of perfectly dressed fifties rockabilly poppets, the 40's types lindy hopping far too proficiently, the pale skinned flappers and lots of ladies with pin curled hair and gents with real facial hair. Shame however on the few fake tache wearers, grow them gentleman please! An honourable exception was one chap with a preposterous big black Dennis the Menace merkin-like facial attachment which, of course, worked perfectly.

Mr Gustav Temple looked splendid in his topper, Mr Sebastian Horsley stood out in his remarkable chimney of a stove piper and Mr David Piper provided an elegant, laconic contrast to the chap hoppers in the front row. Mr Micheal Attree's paranormal chaporgasmic presentation was educational but I am concerned that he may be in trouble with the Save the Mermaid rabble. Louise looked marvellously oriental in her kimono and Mr Torquil Arbuthnot was elusive, red legs spent a great deal of the night searching for him.... In short there was enough chaos and sillliness to remind those there that the Chap has never been the resort of the young fogey who wants to be an aristocrat or of the disenchanted hooray...but for the intelligent flaneur who walks through life with paradoxical disdain for modern vulgarity coupled with a great enthusiasm for, modern vulgarity.

Of course there were set backs, perfection is always elusive. The chaps and chapettes characteristically drank one of the bars dry of gin, the queues for bar and dressing room were overlong but the greatest problem was a) that it finished too early and b) we might have to wait another five years for the next one. Mr Temple listen up your people need you!

Ginger vitus

My original medium dark brown hair

A not particularly flattering photograph of the marmalade hair.

(The gentleman next to me is Atters, of Chaporgasmic terrors fame).
photo courtesy of the Chairman.

I now have hair the colour of marmalade, not a subtle shade, bright enough to attract the odd stare. With pale skin, freckles and grey eyes, I own the perfect complexion for russet locks. The shade of red I now have is a true ginger, but too strong to pass for natural. The reaction thus far has been interesting. Immediately after having it coloured (at Miss Betty's in Kingly Court) I realised I would need some new make-up, a red lipstick with orange undertones and a light brown/chestnutty eyebrow pencil. This necessitated a trip to Selfridges (again). The girls at the Chanel counter were very taken with my hair colour and made a point of remarking upon it, Chanel girls have never thrown me any compliments before. When loitering at the Mac counter another customer commented on my hair and said I looked 'fierce', which I gather is not an insult.

Mind you I have noticed a few other stares, perhaps because during the day time my look is not overtly vintage, nor do I look particularly alternative. My dirty book-moving day job means I get grubby and cannot wear the kind of clothes I prefer in my own time. I think strong hair colours are now primarily associated with counter-culture lifestyle and I don't immediately fit the bill. I also feel it is a reflection of an obsession with having highly coloured and treated hair that is nonetheless percieved as 'natural'. My sibling is a hairdresser and is amused at the blond highlights that are the norm in the UK. In his opinion the foil highlight is as bad for your hair as all-over colour as with more than two or three applications it ends up being all over colour..but stealthily and more importantly, expensively. As hardly any British women are blonde it is perfectly clear that all these natural blondes are fakes, self deception is rife. Strange how they are dyeing their hair only a shade lighter than it's own shade, if that were the case, why bother? The fact is of course that a good shade of pretty all over blonde can be obtained from a box of Nice and Easy for about a fiver and two of the prettiest blonde barnets I know of are obtained from exactly this brand.

Dyeing your hair a lurid shade is more tricky, perhaps because strong pigments such as red are fugitive and fade fast. To get my hair pale enough to take the red, its natural muddy brown had to be bleached and then tinted, a process when carried out professionally has little effect on condition, apart from the fact your hair gets less greasy. In fact my hair feels nicer now, probably because the tint has conditioned it.

Vintage style clothes and strong hair colours certainly match. Most of the beautiful women of the past I admire had ferociously strongly coloured hair: Grace Kelly, Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner. Even those that had their own colour had a soft minky brown that most women, in this country anyway, dye blonde. That minky colour is very close to good old fashioned, and often really attractive, English mouse brown.

Strong hair colour is arguably harsher and makes you look your age, in a world obsessed by infantilism that is not good. But I do not care, I would rather look my age than give in to insipid caramel. I'm not sure whether the marmalade locks I currently have will be darkened a bit next month but at the moment I am having fun trying to live up to the colour. Red in it's natural form is the rarest hair colour in the world, yet most common here in the UK. It's associations, even the negative ones, are really quite appealing. In any case I don't want it to look natural, there is nothing wrong with my own brown hair, and I am spending good money on it! Mind you the bearded one has been heard to say there most be some kind of state benefit out there for men who care for ginger girlfriends....