EDIT – with new photos
With worries about catching the Swish’s flu being at the forefront of my mind, I’d planned Friday night as a quiet night in front of the TV, no drama, no frills and certainly no booze. Oh how it all changed…
At about 5pm Swish got offered a pair of tickets to a FaceParty event over in Brick Lane. The invites came in a box with a large picture of a naked girl covered in blood and barbed wire, inside the box was a large IV bag of blood. Lovely. The invite itself promised dark arts, twisted cabaret and even a midnight crucifixion. There were to be 666 guests and shockingly additional invites cost a measly £1,200. Not one to invite your entire extended family to then.
I ummed and aahhed over what to wear for many hours – what the hell do you wear to a crucifixion? I’d never had this dilemma before. After an hour of pasting on black eyeliner and red lippy we found ourselves in a rather large queue on Brick Lane. The venue itself was set back from the road, so we couldn’t see in. We could however see massive crowds stopping as the passed by to gawp, as well as lots and lots of smoke and lasers. After we got handed some consent forms we’d begun to get very very nervous.
After what seemed like an hour of hoping it wasn’t actually going to involve death and defecation, we finally got to the front to find 5 girls in pink pvc with fake guns, a very very tall tranny wearing a fur coat with ‘cunt’ scrawled across the back in blood, numerous men in gimp suits and most importantly – two doorways, one marked ‘sluts’, another marked ‘virgins’. Those chosen for the sluts door were handcuffed and blindfolded before being led through the door. Eeek. For various am dram reasons the dominatrix taking tickets yelled at me and asked me to spin on the spot ten times. Either I giggled enough or I hadn’t worn enough black eyeliner, but we promptly got lead through the virgins door, sans bondage.
This is the first time I’d ever entered a venue to be warned by a man in a gimp suit not to eat the meat, and I’m hoping it’s my last. We walked through a dark corridor to see a very convincing torture scene that involved a very blonde girl with her bloody skeleton being groped by a creepy man proffering slices of sandwich meat.
When we walked in it soon became apparent they’d spent the equivalent of 3rd world debt on this party. More pvc clad girls offered us champagne (with ‘gory’ cherry tomatoes in the bottom). As we walked through to the next room we spotted large breasted waitresses wearing only pants, surgeons in scrubs covered in blood, more gimp suits and oddly, men dressed as convicts. Quite what rainforests have to do with torture I’m not sure, but the second room was transformed in a big high budget J-Lo video, complete with 15ft waterfall. Woodchips covered the floor and after a few drinks you’d have been forgiven for thinking we were actually in the jungle.
There were almost as many staff as guests, some of whom asked Swish to eat whipped cream covered strawberries off their nipples. Poor boy. Every second step your glass was filled up, so much for the booze free Friday then.
The next few rooms were made up into caves, complete with shrines to the death of Debbie McGee and Vanessa Feltz. Vanessa’s included slices of pie amongst the voodoo dolls. Charming.
Further rooms included a sex shop complete with a stripper in the window, ‘golden shower’ toilets complete with glory holes, and a seedy back alley complete with a muttering tramp. It was all very very strange.
We drank and drank, not noticing how much we were getting through as these damned gimps wouldn’t stop topping up our glasses. We declined from drinking the shots of celebrity piss and jizz though. About half way through the evening I nearly added to the piss levels on offer by getting a bit too excited at the sight of Will Young stood near us in a very sexy leather waistcoat and no shirt underneath. Teh sex. Apparently George Michael was there, but he’s not teh sex so much nowadays since he stopped wearing tiny white shorts.
It was incredible how much the theme got into people’s mindsets, the atmosphere was very very sexually charged. We found a secret room towards the back of the venue whereby you had to crawl to get into the room. Inside was a white palace complete with a hot plunge pool and giant plastic cows. It felt for all the world as if an orgy was going to begin any second. Time to go back to the rainforest then.
By this point I’d had rather a lot of champagne, and the wood chippings floor wasn’t so easy to cope with when in very high red stilettos. As I stepped from the rainforest floor onto the now rather damp rubber floor of the cabaret room I fell flat on my face. Ouch.
I smashed the champagne glass in my hand, but was more worried about the pain in my knees when the bouncers asked me if I was OK. I couldn’t see any blood on my knees so I brushed myself off and said I was fine. Though within about 30 seconds I noticed a rather large amount of blood running down my right arm. Damn, that’d be the glass I fell on then.
I got marched out to the medics on duty, and soon bandaged up. Thankfully, the medics weren’t the blood covered surgeons and were instead very nice normal non-gimped up people.
Walking home I couldn’t really get over how I’d ended up seeing so much nakedness, so much blood (fake and real) and so much rubber; I’ve spent the rest of the weekend indoors just to recover.
Ps. Gory photos of bruised knees, cut arms and big rainforests will appear tomorrow when I get back to work.
Pps. To my boss who told me that he’d meet me in the ‘toture garden’, I expect to find you tied up on my desk chair first thing tomorrow morning.