Tonight I am going out with the girl from six boats down, we are going to her friends 30th, nice people, pretty cool people and in theory I should be looking forward to tonight… BUT! I have been sent a link to the club we are meant to be going to tonight and it contains a phrase that sends a chill through my entire being… STRICT DRESS CODE click for details … the ‘details’ start off with instructions to be both stylish and sexy… certain kinds of jeans are allowed certain kinds are not… I have had to abandon that because I am unfamiliar with most of the terms they use… worse still was to come ‘Strictly No Trainers’ I own 24 pairs of ‘non specific sports related’ trainers… I own one pair of shoes… I guess this makes that decision easier… perhaps I should be grateful! Why does this bug me so much? Well the answer is Three fold… firstly it means the place is going to be expensive and the music is going to be rubbish (I have looked at pictures, it looks like the inside of Jordan’s handbag*) Secondly putting a dress code guarantees ‘smart’ people in the same way putting the word honourable in front of an member of parliament’s name guarantees that they will be *STOPS, SO AS NOT TO BITE THE HAND THAT FEED US*… Thirdly it reminds me of home and all small towns… it is so bloody provincial not bloody Soho!
I have fallen victim to dress codes before, once on a night out in Watford (don’t ask it involved a girl… probably) I was denied entry to a Wetherspoons because I was wearing trainers… A BLOODY WETHERSPOONS! I was pretty annoyed and entertained the bouncers with a brilliant sheep impression/ interpretive dance** when they explained that it was because everyone else in Watford did it. I was very nearly turned away from the ESPN executive box at Ewood Park (the home of Blackburn Rovers) for wearing jeans even though the 4 tickets I had in my hand were worth a LOT of money, my trousers made the value of the tickets invalid in the eyes of the frustrated middle aged man with a non ironic or charitable moustache … In general when in London you are fine to go anywhere dressed how the hell you like so longs as your credit card has some juice on it, I have been to some very fine places looking like a badly dressed teenager with a hobo beard. Anyway I have borrowed some trousers from a neighbour dug out my good (only) shoes and will now await the inevitable humiliation of being turned away for failing to meet the first rule they stipulated… my cobbled together look is more ‘down on his luck geography teacher’ than ‘stylish and sexy’. I might try and hide behind the girl from six boats down…
Drop your expense forms to me by the close of play please so I can process them and get them paid next Friday so you can all go to the pub or give all your money to Simon Hutley!
*This is a toned down version of my thoughts
** This failed to impress them but did impress the girl.. probably