Tag Archives: dining in london

Don’t Tell Mama

I went to a magical cabaret at well known burlesque institution Volupte. First off, the food was absolutely incredible, especially my stilton soup to start so I would recommend getting a table if you go but this was secondary to the show. It was on a Tuesday night so the atmosphere was a little flat and it was clear that the comics worked better off a buzzed audience but none-the-less it was entertaining.

The semi-famous magician Max Somerset did an intriguing ‘ball and cup’ routine which built and built, culminating in a live chicken being pulled from nowhere. Similarly impressive was the audience’s Derren Brown style prediction of the lottery which was at least partly unfixed as one of our table supplied a number.

The burlesque act for the evening was no Dita Von Tease (neither in talent nor physical charms) but she did do an interesting comedy magic trick where she supposedly mistook a bandana for a banana but made it disappear regardless. She also belted out a cheeky number entitled “Don’t Tell Mama I Went To Volupte” whilst removing a naughty nun outfit, proving that if you have enough confidence it doesn’t matter what size you are.

Would I go again?

To see a show; yes, but only on the weekend after payday. You need the atmosphere of a packed club and enough money to enjoy yourself. As a bar it’s a bit far out of the main drag but the cocktails were delicious (especially chilli infused gin ones) and would be good for an intimate, secluded, alternative date.

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Launching the London Culture Club

I am going to explain who I am, why I am doing this, and how it came to pass. Part diary / part manifesto, if you will. This post will be quite long and is probably more catharsis for me than informative for you. To get to the bones of it read the about page. To experience the body and soul of the LCC start at the very beginning, a very good place to start:

Date: August 2009, Location: Dissertation Hell

While writing my MA dissertation I had a minor breakdown. Months of stress and probably a few monthly hormones lead me to a decision that running away would solve my problems. Being one of those painfully responsible people I had funds remaining in a savings account. In a fit of spontaneity I booked the Eurostar to Paris for a 5 day break. Alone.

Having previously been held back by a fear of striking out on my own, this was one of the single most liberating weeks of my life. Getting up early I entrenched myself in all the city had to offer, took a nap, then dove back in to the giddy cacophony of Parisian nightlife. In this week I met intersting people from many different countries, some of whom I still keep in contact with.

I came back and finished my dissertation (got a distinction too, in case you were worried). But I was never the same. I was infected with the incurable travel bug but apparently you can’t get airline tickets on the NHS (though strangely you can get a sun bed session)!

Date: Wednesday 13th January 2010, Location: Hertfordshire

I have spent the last 5 months trying to get a job in advertising and, largely due to the recession, I have been unsuccessful. But I’m through to the final round of a really good agency and I’m waiting for the call to say if I have got the job or not. I have the feeling I do not but, due to my incurable sickness, I have already mentally planned a trip to Australia and Eastern Europe before the October start date.

I get the call. I do not get the job. I end the call. I cry (I’m a girl, we do that sometimes). My plans of expanding my horizons are dashed on the rocks and my unemployment and shoe addiction dance a tortuously expensive merry jig in the back of my mind. (N.B. I am not actually unemployed, I intern at a lovely company near Kings Cross during the week and pull pints at my local at the weekend)

I watch the news before taking solace in ‘Neighbours’ and copious amounts of rum and see the tragedy of the Haitian earthquake (donate here) and promptly pull myself together. OK, so the dream job isn’t happening right now, the travel plans are on hold and yes, it’s not ideal, but I have a very supportive network of friends and family who love me no matter what and, most importantly, are all alive. Things are not that bad for me. Not at all.

Date: Thursday 14th January 2010. Location: London Kings Cross

I missed my bastarding train home. Fuck. Partly my Boss’s fault for delaying my exit (though he was just trying to help me out at the time). Partly National Rail’s for not putting the correct platform number on the internet. Partly my own for trusting National Rail not to be fuckwitted bastards. What the hell am I going to do for 45 mins waiting for the next train?

Earlier that day a favourite internet person of mine, Adland Suit, had blogged about the usefulness of Time Out magazine for being a good advertising person. Previous advice this gent has dispensed has proved useful (Secret Cinema. Google it. Go to it. Love it.). Striving to be a good advertising person candidate I wandered into W H Smiths to see if it was there. It was. I bought it.

Well knock me down, Mr ALS is right again. This is chock-a-block with interesting stuff. I have an epiphany: why do I need to travel the world when one of the greatest cities in the world is already on my doorstep?!

And so the London Culture Club was born…

That’s all. Keep checking back for updates. See you soon culture vultures!

BB

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