Typically in the first blog entry of the New Year, you’re either supposed to talk about the year that’s just gone or make your predictions about the year coming up. I intend to do the former, but only going as far back as December 30th. I’ve spent the entire year writing about the things this blog is about, and so a recap is surely unnecessary.
The 30th, however, was a night of note about which I have not written so far. The Directrix organised a trip to the Last Tuesday Society’s event, the New Year’s Eve Eve masked ball, held at The Bridge under the arches of the London Bridge railway viaduct. The dress code, according to the website, was “Divine Decadence.” The same site also advised that while masks were obligatory, clothes were optional. I decided that clothes were certainly the preferable option in my case due to my compassion for greater humanity. In the meantime, I busied myself painting the mask you see on the left there.
On the day of the party, it soon became clear that there was a problem I hadn’t anticipated, namely that of condensation – the mask had almost no ventilation, and within a few minutes I had something akin to a tropical rainforest going on in there. In the queue I found there was actually water leaking out of the eye holes. Classy, not to mention sexy.
Anyway, once we got in I was pleasantly surprised. Generally when “decadence” is promised, the full extent of said decadence consists of a fat guy in a nappy and a 17-year-old drinking too much and being sick on you. This time, however, the party was very much as advertised. Decadence was abundant.
The best thing about the masked ball, as a concept, is that your face is hidden. If I might get a little philosophical here, one of the major things that prevents you from being naughty in your day-to-day life is the fact that you might be recognised. You might also be prevented by reason of being boring, but that’s outside the scope of this article I’m afraid. My point is that the masked ball is an opportunity to really misbehave.
This one was no exception, if the dude wearing nothing but a mask and a leash around his gentleman’s prerogatives was any indication. I mean, seriously, I’m hardly a prude, but there were enough naked people around there to turn a chap vegetarian.
Of course, it wasn’t just a case of making your own entertainment, and there was plenty laid on. Music was being provided by the Texas Chainsaw Orchestra, Seas of Mirth, the Trans-Siberian Marching Band, Jimbino Vegan and his Jazz Cannibals and various other escapees from The Mighty Boosh. If that wasn’t to your taste, there was a Santa Striptease for the ruination of your childhood. There was a giant mechanical penis that one could ride and, if successful, receive a bottle of gin as a prize. I don’t know if this was supposed to be a tribute to William Hogarth or what, but one of our party received a bottle for her mastery of bucking genitalia.
The bar, it has to be said, was a little slow – on one occasion I found myself recalling when the entire area was fields. The buffet, however, was really something else – as you may see a couple of photos above, it was presided over by four naked ladies. Apparently there was supposed to be a man as well, but “he pulled out at the last minute.” Well knowing the double meaning of this phrase, I avoided the semolina pudding. Having said that, I can’t remember what I actually did eat. I consider myself a fairly enlightened guy, but when faced with four unexpected naked ladies, my thought process goes something along the lines of, “By George, how Bacchanalian – but are not all pleasures of the flesh closely linked? Are not the act of eating and the act of love traditionally associated with each other? This display is, in fact, an illustration of that which we instinctively BOOBIES BOOBIES BOOBIES”
We left before the hot tub, but in that time I learnt many things. First of all, in a lesbian orgy, it is important to expect the unexpected. Secondly, you can get away with a lot more if nobody can see your face. Thirdly, if you feel something prodding your left buttock on the dance floor, you should not turn around. Fourthly, full-face masks make it a little difficult to drink. Others of the party learned that the more complex your costume is, the harder it is to get to the toilet, and that nipple damage is no laughing matter.
Overall, the event was Most Enjoyable, and I would heartily recommend it to licentious folk across the city.
I should probably warn you that this entry was NSFW.
http://www.thelasttuesdaysociety.org/index.html – The Last Tuesday Society’s website
http://www.thelasttuesdaysociety.org/gallery_2.html – The gallery of the night. Yr. Humble Chronicler’s party was among those photographed, but you do have to scroll through quite a lot of nudity to get to us. As in real life.
http://www.vimeo.com/8472597 – A video of events.