My bank holiday weekend was rather eventful, to say the least. On Saturday night I donned a black cotton 50s repro frock and my red Remix platforms and trotted off to my friend and fellow pinup girl Debra Decay’s hen party. Due to being out-and-about during the day with the chap for his birthday (after the non-event that it was on the actual day – see my previous post!), I couldn’t make the day’s activities and came for the evening’s curry and drinks instead. It was all a lot of fun, and then the maid-of-honour annouced that we were needed in the upstairs bar. Well, I think we all knew what was about to transpire … and we were right! Marching in, dressed all in a white, faux captain’s uniform was a male stripper! His act proceeded in a typical fashion, getting ladies to rub baby oil on his chest, and so on. His finale was to douse himself with soapy water (whilst wrapped in a towel – he never got completely starkers) … and then it happened. I thought I had got off scot-free without his attentions, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. There I was, sipping my champagne and minding my own business, clapping when prompted and giggling at the bride-to-be’s shocked expressions, when over he marched, whipped aside his towel, and stuck his unmentionables right into my (almost full) glass of champagne!! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek!!! I have to admit, I shrieked loudly and tried to pull it away when I realised what he was about to do, spilling most of it down myself, and he got his dangly bits right in there anyway! Well, all I can say is, thank heavens I wasn’t wearing real vintage – I debated my black crepe sequinned number, which would have been absolutely ruined after that! And what a dreadful wast of bubbly!
When I posted about this harrowing event on Twitter, a few people asked me, “You didn’t drink it did you?”. Seriously? Would you?? I have no idea where he’s been! Luckily there was more champagne on hand to settle my nerves.
But, unusual swizzle sticks aside, it was a great evening. Here’s me applying my lippie after gorging on curry, with the gorgeous bride next to me:
Since getting that jacket, I now understand what the Fedora Lounge members mean when they talk about high armholes. I couldn’t work out what exactly was “wrong” with it until I put on my genuine 40s jacket and realised how much higher and tighter the armholes are. But it’s still a lovely jacket, and it was cheap so it’s great for everyday wear, so as not to wear out my genuine vintage.
In other news, I did a shoot on Sunday, which went brilliantly. I was posing with a Porsche 356, and did some fantastic noir-ish shots and some tongue-in-cheek pulp cover-inspired ones too, with UK TV chef Mark Baumann, who actually owns the car.
So do watch this space for some forthcoming shoot results!
All the best,