Memories Of The Blitz ( The Nightclub) Part two.

It didn’t look like a club. Most clubs I’d been to were dimly lit, there was always an area for a DJ, a dance floor, strobe lighting. This was bright; I could hear music playing but couldn’t see a DJ or a dance floor.

I realised that these people didn’t want the lights dimmed. They wanted to be seen. Why dress up in your most outrageous and glamorous gear if no one can see it?

They were playing “Rise” by Herb Albert.

There was a long bar to our right hand side. We wandered over. Standing next to me was a girl in a wedding dress with one of the sleeves ripped off. She wore black stilettos and had yellow and orange hair. Her boyfriend wore a baggy suit, shirt and tie, and a flat cap. He looked every inch like Robert Redford from the film “The Sting”.

It was still quite early and the place was still filling up. We got a bottle of wine and sat down at a table and chairs against a wall, away from the bar. We people watched.

Just when you thought you’d seen the most bizarrely dressed person, someone else came along and blew you away. Coming towards us was a young woman in a long dress, it could have been a wedding or bridesmaids dress. Her hair was backcombed and piled up high; it was a light shade of blue. Under the dress I could make out that she was wearing red Doctor Martin boots. In one hand she held a cigarette in a long holder. Her other hand was by her side but she appeared to be pulling something. As she glided past we saw what she was pulling. It was a toy dog on wheels. The weirdest thing about this? No one took any notice. It was as though it was the most natural thing in the world!

“I’ll Play The Fool” by Dr Buzzards Original Savannah Band was playing as I got up to get another bottle of wine.

“Nice Coat, where did you get it?” A voice from behind me was asking the question. I turned round.

In front of me was a lad aged about nineteen. He was a good three inches shorter than me and about three stone lighter. He wore a white, three button granddad shirt, red corduroys and winkle picker shoes. Around his neck he had a long green and gold silk scarf. He was wearing a lot of make up.

“Covent Garden.”

“Can I try it on?”

My overcoat was baggy on me, that was the way it was supposed to look. It also came down to my ankles. It was heavy. Made of Harris Tweed.

“Sure.”

I took it off and handed it to him. He put it on. It swamped him. But then he did something. He took off his scarf and tied it around his waist like a belt. The overcoat took on a new dimension; he turned up the collar and started walking up and down and turning as though he was on a catwalk. People were looking at him and nodding as if to say “Looks good.”

The crazy thing was, it really did look good on him. It shouldn't, in fact there was no way that it could. But it did.

"How much?”

“Not for sale mate, took me ages to find it.”

“Shame, I really like it.”

He took it off and gave it back to me. I walked back to the table with our bottle of wine.

“Your My Everything” by Lee Garrett had just finished playing when the stage lights came on.

The stage was at the end of the club and was quite small.

To our amazement, four guys came on stage wearing straw boaters. They were dressed as though they were going to the Henley Regatta. It was a barbershop quartet. My girlfriend recognised one of the men. “That’s Brian Protheroe.”

I knew the name but not the face. They did a full forty five minutes and were fantastic. Then the music came back on. People danced wherever they were, by the bar, by their table, anywhere. It was like having a party at someone’s house but with the coolest people on the planet.

We stayed till around one thirty then left and got a cab home. We returned a few times over the next six months or so but it never quite had the same feeling as that first night.

Oh, the guy that tried on my overcoat. It was Steve Strange.