Shadowboot, she-shoe of dahkness

One night, someone somewhere is going to do the perfect goth bash, with Siouxsie and Depeche Mode and Sisters and Fields of the Nephilim, and yes OK, some stuff that isn't strictly goth but hangs around nearby. Let me know if you ever hear of such an event. We didn't quite have that on Saturday. But in the brilliant company of november_girl, ephraim, and larians, I had a night of vampire ruffles in the dodgy end of Brum.

And yes, we were respectable before and respectable afterwards. Thanks must go out to our magnificent chef ephraim for a fine pork roast/spiced apples/crackling/red wine combo, during which we talked politics and travel like the erudite intelligentsia we will become once we have embraced our tweed-jacketed elbow-patched future.

But all that can be fought off with black eyeliner, corsets and uberlace, spiderchokers and coffin handbags...and it helps if the girls join in too, naturally. From the puzzled DJ wondering why no-one was flicking their velvet against his industrial thrash, to the random felator buried down a lap between hastily emptied seats, every club cliche found its way to the floor. In the meantime, we smooched and oozed, and danced like the smacked up dead, proving beyond all whiffery of cheese, that olskoolgoffs are the prettiest in the land:-)