Worst Lapdance of the Week; The Swiss One

He looked kindly and sweet when I saw him at the bar.  A little man in a suit, with a round face and fluffy balding hair - a cuddly Donald Trump.  He offered to buy me a gin and tonic, and as I sat on the bar stool he pulled his closer, so that our knees were touching.  

"I'm Swiss," he replied in answer to my question, grabbing my hand in his own chubby fingers.  

"We should go drink these somewhere else... somewhere more private."

He nodded like a keen St. Bernard doggie, and hurried with a waddling gait to the booth. With his fluffy hair and careful placing of fat paws on the ground, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had been an Alpine rescue dog with a barrel of whisky round his neck.  My hustling heart soared - after a bad night this man was definitely going to book me in for a VIP - there was only just over an hour left and my money wrap lay limp and thin even after six hours hustling.

with thanks to the State Library of New South Wales at Flickr

We sat down and discussed spending the rest of the night together - stripclub terminology for 'pay me till the club closes, then it's Sayonara sweetheart'.  But as his fingers crept up my thigh like fat caterpillars he insisted that he just wanted a dance to start.  

"Fine, let's do that then," I agreed grudgingly, figuring that I could at least get the horny little bugger for a multiple hit of £60, £100, even if a full hour was out of the question. 

I manoeuvred around him carefully, being careful of his hands.  They were slipping and sliding everywhere - stroking the edge of my thigh, trying to crawl towards my knickers, quivering inches from my bottom as I shook and span it around.

"No touching - naughty." I giggled playfully.  Not my rules, it's the law - and they are strictly enforcing it in London at the moment what with a vice and regulations round-up in advance of the Olympics.

"No touching!" Once again, more insistent this time, and I backed away to the opposite end of the booth so that he would get the idea.

"Yes, sorry, so sorry." He looked at me pleadingly, his eyes large in the folds of his puffy face. He place his hands back at his sides. 

I moved closer.

And closer.

Looking straight at him, watching where his fingers were about to move.  But he didn't move an iota, they barely twitched.

Feeling confident now, I asked winkingly if he wanted another.

He nodded. Of course.

I moved closer, almost on top of him now, my hips snaking from side to side, my hands rubbing my neck, hair tossed to the beat of the sultry house music.  I closed my eyes - I could almost be on a beach in Ibiza, on a sunlit terrace, dancing in my own little world, totally alone.

Till a long soggy feeling erupted over my bottom.

Opening my eyes, and spinning around quicksharp, I almost hurled.

My little Swiss man was licking my bottom, with a pink outstretched tongue like an overexcited Spaniel's penis.  Raspberry pink, wet, throbbing and refusing to go back inside where it belongs.  Leaving trails of slobber all over my beautiful, toned, tanned, moisturised and perfumed derrière.

He looked up sheepishly like a little kid who has been caught licking the icing off a chocolate gateaux, and I couldn't find it in my heart to berate the sleazebag.  Even if it did mean I would have to disinfect the area later.  

Who realised that a country famed for it's neutrality could hold such perverts?

How to pick up a lapdancer

It must be on every man's bucket list to pick up a lapdancer. Hell, I've even met students of The Game and Rules of the Game who bring in their classes to use us girls as target practice.

But how does a guy chat up a stripper? And I don't mean swap numbers and business cards so that she calls you up and gets you to become one of her regulars, or puts you on the club mailing list.

I'm talking about a real life, meet-out-of-the-club scenario, which perhaps progresses to second or third base … or the kind of magical night where you hit a home run and you and the deliciously hot and horny exotic dancer have wild freaky sex all night long...

I've thought about this and have come up with my top ten points and advice on courting a lady of the night...

Firstly, a disclaimer. It is against club policy to date customers, and many clubs don't even like you telling guys your real name or any personal details. So when a lapdancer is 'lying' to you, she is probably just doing it to toe the club line and keep her job.

As a Stripper PUA (Pick.Up.Artist), you should make understanding the dancers situation your bottom line. Would you risk your job to get laid?

Well would you????

So picking up a lapdancer is breaking every rule in the book – so whilst Miss Sassy Lapdancer here does not condone this kind of illicit and exciting scenario, I will offer a few pointers...

• Be NICE Buy the girl a drink. Give her a few compliments, just casually dropped into the conversation. Look her in the eyes, not stare directly at her tits.
• Compliments; Here you have to be clever. Some girls have real hang-ups about bits of their bodies, whereas other girls are so used to getting complimented on certain areas that they find it a turn-off. These bodily bits are generally the men's favourite erogenous zones, such as tits, legs and bottoms. On top of this, we fuss about our hair and eyes so much in the changing room that whilst we like getting compliments about our hair and eyes, we may also be expecting it. A clever guy will compliment a girl on a more unusual feature. Personally, I go gooey a la' Fifty Shades of Grey when a man tells me “Don't bite your bottom lip – It's very distracting”.

Try saying that;

a girl's hands look beautiful with her bracelets and rings, that her eyebrows frame her face perfectly, her shoes look great on her legs, her luscious brunette locks remind you of Cheryl Cole/ Kate Middleton. She just blushed a little and it was really sweet, you like the faraway look in her eyes when she discusses holidays, she has a beautiful back. (don't massage it if you are heavy handed though... or drunk. That will just cause me pain and I need my body to work!)

• Compliment No-No's; Reader's of The Game and Rules of the Game will know all about 'negative' hits – backhanded compliments such as 'your hair is cute, it reminds me of a mullet'. A few of these can be a great way to break the ice and make the conversation funny, but too many and you will seem like a dick. Be nice (see above)
• Raise your Standards; You are trying to successfully pull a hot, sexy, cool woman who gets chatted up every night, so make sure you fit the bill yourself. Dancer's like hot guys, cool musician types, guys with a decent job and salary, - but the key thing is not to smell, please shave off any extraneous body hair, don't wear dorky clothes, and just exude an air of cool confidence. Most guys I date are people who work late shifts like me – so if you are a bouncer, bartender, or drug dealer reading this, I am sure that you have already dated several strippers. Freelancers, chefs, and people in creative industries are great for dating – if you are a 9-5er, understand that if I go on a date, I may be taking a night off work for you, so make it special.
• Choose your time carefully Come when it's slow, like a Sunday, Monday or Tuesday shift. Note when the girls change from daytime to evening shift – a hungry day girl may take you up on your offer of dinner when her shift ends. Or have an after-hours party lined up (NOT in your hotel room). Or even better than a party - have an all-night breakfast place lined up.  Any lapdancer worth her salt will be ravenously hungry after dancing for 8 hours for a pack of drooling zombies baying round a stage.
• Bring a friend If you go to a stripclub on your own, the dancer will see you as a proper perverted punter, or a sad and lonely bugger. I'd bring a friend or two – a wingman, or even better, a wingman AND a wingwoman. Then they can both big you up, and say what a nice guy you are.
• Can I bring a friend? Look, I'm sure you are not an axe-wielding rapist, but it's still scary meeting up with a guy, especially at 3am in the morning when you have been staring at my naked form all night. So if you invite me on somewhere, expect me to bring company – well at least it will be hot company, as I'll bring one of my fellow dancers. However, if you are inviting me to a club or houseparty, and I bring a waiter or bartender along as part of my entourage, don't moan – just graciously accept it & buy him a beer. If I wanted to sleep with the staff, I would have done it already, capiche?
• Shooting fish in a barrel It's very hard to chat me up at work. It's hard to chat me up period, because if I like you, I've probably already started initiating a future hook-up before you even know that Cupid's love bolt is heading your way. So if you are the kind of douchebag who wants to chat up a dancer for kicks, stick to the new girls and amateurs, as they will prove less resistant to your charms. If you want to spot a new girl, ask the barstaff, DJ or just watch them on stage – you can spot a new girl from a mile off as their stage-sets are less polished even though you can see she is really trying to appear sexy whilst twiddling round the pole. The old-timers are usually the girls who look really really good, or really, really bored.
• Have a pen in your pocket. Well, I'm not going to ask a manager or waitress for a biro if I want to give you my number am I, and running off to the changing room isn't an option when another dancer will just swoop into my place as soon as I vacate my seat.
• Remember this is my JOB and my WORKPLACE I'm not even going to delve into detail on this startling obvious fact, but if I swung by your office and took up all your time chasing your digits, you would find me very annoying....

So there is my advice on successfully chatting up a lapdancer. Memorise and learn from my pearls of exotic dancer wisdom, or cut out and keep this how to ten point plan on pulling a lapdancer.

In my own life, my #dateadancer week has obviously taken longer than a week, but I hope you have been enjoying my posts. I'm finishing off my date a dancer series with 'How to date a dancer' followed by 'How to dump a dancer' – advice there on the full spectrum and love lives of us exotic young ladies. Please look around my blog and check out these posts.

Personally, I have got several dates lined up this week with cute guys, one who is a friend of a friend but two are guys I met in the club (on different nights – I'm not a slag!) I've kissed two of them but haven't seen any sparks fly yet, and haven't had sex for three weeks now, which means I am rule-breakingly horny at work :)

See you in the VIP booth xoxo Sassy

The difficulties behind chatting up a punter

Our eyes locked.  I was unable to look away.  The music melted away, a soft murmur in the background.  I felt naked. I was naked.
I realised that I hadn't taken a breath for a while. Air came into my lungs, I blinked, suddenly self-concious.
"I...." My lips parted.
His hand softly grabbed mine, and a thrill of electricity ran through me.  I could feel butterflies in my stomach, and I leant in closer, closer, wanting to kiss him.  This man, sat right in front of me.  Why did I find him so attractive, so alluring?
I remembered where I was.
I stopped myself, pulled my wits back around me like a protective security blanket, laughed nervously, and pulled myself back up. As if to break the spell, I tossed my head back and strode seductively to the other side of the booth before finishing the lapdance.

Yes, that really can happen.  I've fallen in love with customers in an instant, felt an erotic thrill whilst dancing for some of the most beautiful men I've ever met, fallen for the charms of men chatting me up over a glass of champagne, the alcohol clouding me till time rushes past in a blur.

All too often though, it doesn't work out.  Say you'd like to meet, and the guy, sensing ulterior motives, invariably asks; "How much?"
For me, this is a total passion killer.  It kills dead my schoolgirl crush.  How can I be infatuated with a man who wants to pay for my feelings - how can he not realise that my feeling are genuine?
I know I'm really, really good at making a man feel special, because that's my job - to propagate a fantasy.  I'm an exotic dancer on paper, but I am an illusionist by trade.
Then there are the times when, naturally, they don't want what I want - a date.  They want me that night - in a hotel room, back at my house (awkward journey that, as I always say I live in a totally different part of London) - back at his place, perhaps his city bolthole where his wife and kids won't see us.
This makes me feel grubby.  Sure, I've had plenty of one night stands - but they are usually after a house party, a chance meeting in a club, when I'm high, drunk and free.
So maybe you meet up and go on a date - then you have to explain all the fantasies that you span on your initial encounter at the stripclub.  No, I'd add 5 years to that age; I'm sorry, I've never really been to teh same ski resort as you; actually, I don't really live in Chelsea - haven't been there in months, but I do love the TV show....
Of course there is the presumption that you do this all the time, you must be such a slut, taking full advantage of the conveyor belt of eligible bachelors that walk into your life night after night.  You are a guarenteed shag, tons of notches on your bedpost.  You get chatted up all the time, right? (Actually, this is true - most times I leave the house I'll get admiring glasses, but that doesn't mean I follow them all through.)

So, dear readers, next time you are in a club, and that curvy beauty with chocolate eyes to die in holds your hand and whispers that she hopes you don't leave her side for a moment that evening, that she wished the night could last forever - who knows, it may be true!
Or she might just want another hour in the VIP......

Bucket List no.72: Get a lapdance

Call me a sassy Samaritan, but I made a girls deams come true last night.
I gave her a hot lapdance, the first in her life & the only one of the night, and possibly ever again.
I made her bucket list dream come true.

For those unfamiliar with a bucket list, it's the kind of list you write on a rainy day, when you dream of all the things you want to do before you die.  A list of wacky, crazy acheivements, you could say.

Typical bucket list;

• Visit the ruins of Machu Picchu in Peru
• Drive a sports car round a track
• Have a threesome
• Go scuba-diving
• Have a super-hot lapdance from a hottie like me!

(Well, it was on this ladies bucket list anyway.)

Ricky Gervais' show, 'The Idiot Abroad', actually had his hapless pal, Karl Pilkington, performing items of his bucket list.  I remember seeing the bungee jumping show and Karl going down Route 66, but I don't remember him visiting any stripclubs.  That's a damn shame, as I'm sure one of the stripping sorority sisters could put a big slime on that glib, bewildered face of his.  Ricky, if you're listening....????

The lady and her friend LOVED the dance and said I was like a white Rihanna, and I rode high on the coat-tails of that compliment for the rest of the evening!!!

where's my copy?! 'Stripped; The Bare Reality of Lap dancing'

Ooohhh, there is a new book out on stripping, and I'm eager to get a copy. But damnnit! Amazon has sold out.  This means that it's probably massively popular already, which is great news for me as I'm currently scribbling away on a lapdancing novel of my own.  Ahhh, how I dream of a major retailer selling out of my own silly scribblings....
So, the new book out is;


'Stripped; The Bare reality of Lap Dancing' by Jennifer Hayashi Danns & Leveque Sandrine and here's an Amazon link


I first heard about it after a Twitter follower (thankyou honey!) alerted me to a review in the Guardian.  I read and reread the piece with some interest as the views purported seem to be the exact opposite of mine - Jennifer worked for two years as a lapdancer and she didn't like it.  At all.


The review said that she drank daily, daily meaning before, whilst prepping and during work.  Lots of girls took cocaine or drank-drived home.  I agree that a lot of women in the stripping profession turn to drink or drugs, but so do many women nowadays in their twenties - drinking and drugtaking are so normalised into social culture and practices that I am more suprised if somebody doesn't drink or dab in a little coke now and then.


But I really emphasised with her stories, collected from various dancers in conjunction with a campaigning co-author, Leveque Sandrine.  God, they make them sound so nasty - and I suppose a lot of them are.  Guys making you feel like shit, whether it's through the levying of pointless fines by a misogynistic management or customers making degrading comments, which get increasingly tiring as they stack up though the night.


The books main thrust, as far as I can tell from the review, is that lapdancing is psychologically damaging.  (I'm really hoping that this isn't true, as I've been in the business for so long now, and would hate to turn out as a crackpot)  But seriously, I think that stripping is harmful for many girls.  In my experiences, their ability to deal with it centers on just a few aspects; the average customers attitude, the level of contact, and how strong a base the dancer has herself.  A girl away from home for the first time at university may find it very difficult.  A journeying dancer - a stripper on tour - in a different bedsit/friends couch/club every week, may find that she gets more worn out and snappy, more introspective.  A girl who is falling in and out of love shouldn't be working till she becomes steady Eddie once more.  A girl who has failed to budget properly, and then work turns quiet, and she doesn't get that windfall she was counting on, well they always say that desperation leads to drink and drugs and ruin.


Yeah, we all have bad days at work.  But if you are a lapdancer without a strong mental barrier to block it all out a bad shift or comment can linger and fester, as Dann notes;  
"While you are dancing you don't talk about it – because if you are not going to stop, what possible value is there in letting [those thoughts] fester? That's why I would question research which only talks to people who are still working."


The book is clearly written with an agenda - a moralistic, anti-stripping one.  I'm a bit scared actually that it will be so full of depressing stories which strike a chord with me that I will go slightly loopy. I started this blog as a way to filter out a lot of the bad comments and soul-destroying evenings - writing has always been a cleansing and cathartic experience for me.  My first blog, the stripper bride, was often written when I was in a bad place, and many of my shifts did make me unhappy.  Even more petrifying is the knowledge that many of their arguments will be heavily researched, and coming from all directions - political, psychological and sociological - directions which I have studied myself.  What if through reading, I am turned away from my profession; "Danns hopes her book will persuade others that this industry harms men and women alike. "There's something uncomfortable and unbalanced in a fully clothed man paying a woman to strip naked."


Anyways, I'm not going to form a valid opinion until I read the book, which I will probably read with a good bottle of red, just to make the nasty truth medicine go down a little better. 

Getting motivation is exhausting

I've been in a slump recently.
Filled from tip to toe with ennui till even my nipples could burst from boredom.
It's because I've been trying to do a writing project the fear of which has been making me run away from it.
Kinda like a literary suicide...

I've always been one for shooting myself in the pedicured foot, purposefully putting it off or giving up.

In many ways, that's why lapdancing is such a good job for me. I can put it off in so many facets;

Should I work tonight - or not?
Should I approach him - or them, or wait for another?
Should I do pole work, or just lie languidly?
Should I mention VIP or just grab a dance first in case he's scared off by the sums involved?
Should I be late or get in early?

Lapdancing is all about choices - but when you have too many options, you often end up doing nothing at all...

Stripclub Stereotypes #10 ; The Bored Stripper

Every lapdancer can be categorised as a 'bored stripper' at some point in their life - or even a shift.
You've all seen them - groups of bored looking girls grouped around the bar, the dark corners, the edges of the club - waiting patiently for customers to come along.  The bored stripper will be staring into space, playing with her hair, twiddling with the straw in her glass, staring with glassy eyes at the stage where, perhaps, another bored stripper stands slowly  swinging her hips.
Watching a bored stripper on stage is depressingly painful to watch.  If she looks like she is waiting for a bus, occasionally pulling off an item of clothing - just tugging it down if she can get away with it - the bare minimum to get her tits out - then she's bored.  A bored stripper on stage will also move with the least effort possible - akin to a stripper sloth, perhaps with a half-hearted twirl thrown in to stop her dying of boredom.
The bored stripper watching is in a state of half-sleep.  She's hibernating, one eye on the door, like a snake in it's hole.  She's all coiled up, waiting to pounce, but there is no-one there, just an empty club with booming music reverberating round the empty seats.
Bored strippers have been known to wait for two, three hours a night, especially right now, the slow, slloooooww evenings of August, as everyone is either a) on holiday or b) don't want to sit in the dark looking at girls when they can ogle at them for free in the park.  This is the month when there may be more girls than customers for the majority of the evening - or worse, the whole night.  This is the month when the doors get cobwebs, tumbleweed rolls across the empty floor, and the glasses get polished over and over by the equally bored barman.  All the conversations have been had twice this week already, and the gossip only lasts till nine, ten o'clock, so the dancers fall mute and stare into space, daydreaming of VIP.
It's easy to spot a bored stripper - the problem is that as soon as she spots you, she isn't bored anymore.  She turns into the predatory stripper, and you my friend, are her prey as soon as you step through the door.

Fantasies of a stripper

My imagination has taken to wandering after three days of being locked up inside my house whilst the violence rages on outside on the streets of London.  Denied the ability to work, fantasies of being a stripper fill my mind.  Well, I am one already, so really it's the fantasies of a stripper - lapdancing fantasies that have already happened, that I want to happen, how I wished they had happened.  I've danced for years, so have a lot, some are cookie-cutter fantasy, some are strange and esoteric, but I'll list a few of my favourite stripping fantasies;

• Giving Johnny Knoxville a lapdance whilst wearing his cowboy hat - it felt so rock and roll.
• Giving a sci-fi actor a lapdance - I can't remember whether it was Star Trek or Star Gate but our eyes locked throughout and we had a connection that was out of this world!
• Doing tequila shots with my Pammy lookalike friend Grace in a dingy little Tokyo bar after work in the Roppongi district. She had nipples like pistons, and would wipe a slice of lime on one big, pneumatic nipple, sprinkle salt on the other, then balance the shot glass inbetween her ginormous surgically enhanced tits and approach my face with her ample creamy cleavage.  I was in tequila heaven. Yum.
• Several VIP moments with several hot hot HOT girls - it's a shame that I'm not in contact with so many of these wonderful women any more, but thats the nature of the stripping industry beast - we move on and disappear.  If I ever have trouble getting off, its these lesbian twosomes and threesomes (with the guy customer watching with a massive grin on his face) that I remember.  
• Dancing for a dwarf.  This hasn't happened yet, and it's pissing me off.  It's number one in my stripping 'To-Do' checklist - if there is a dwarf in my club, which seems to happen on an annual basis, I'll make a beeline for him as soon as possible. But I miss every motherfucking time! I've danced for guys half paralysed in wheelchairs, a blind man (that was really fun - I had to dirtytalk a lot), plenty of hobbling broken legs, carefully shimmied round broken arms, I've had stroke victims, Downs syndrome - the lot.  But not a dwarf - although I did dance for a guy who had no hands and his legs amputated at the knee, so I've danced for someone of similar height.  (As a disclaimer, I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for them.  They are in the club to party with beautiful women, and I am happy to provide that service.  If I've given him something for his wank-bank, all the better! However, to keep me inspired, I do have a 'To-Do' checklist of bizarre stripper-related aspirations) 
• Getting rained on.  This is an American term which means that a guy stands at the tipping rail (side of stage) and throws notes on a stripper whilst she dances - but throws so many that it looks like rain.  I've had it happen to me with fivers in London a few times, single dollar bills plenty of times, but the best was by a music producer who rained on me with $100 & $20 bills when I was dancing abroad.  Wow. My garter was certainly packing that night, I tell ya!
• Getting praised by the management for doing a good job.  This NEVER fucking happens, as even if the burly blokes do give you a compliment, it's always followed by a sarcastic rebuff/insult.     ie: ME; "I did really well tonight, here's a tip for you"  BOSS; "Thanks, I knew you would do well tonight in that outfit, it looks good on you. Makes you look like a right slag."
• I'd love to give a rockstar a lapdance.
• Ditto a pornstar - male or female, or a burlesque star.  Might be a bit intimidating, deffo lotsa fun.
• I'd love to work in Vegas. It's like the stripper Mecca.  I've been, and loved it, and wish I could click me heels and go to where the sun always shines, the high rollers are always rolling in, and the lights are bright.  I'm sure they would love me over there - in my fantasies all these American guys go "Jeez, I lurve ur pritty inglish accent, lets go to V.I.P right now" and shower me with casino winnings. Sigh. Unfortunately, as I don't have a USA visa, Vegas business licence or sheriff's card, it ain't gonna happen, as the clubs in Vegas are SUPER strict on hiring. Meh.

Well, there are my favourite stripping fantasies right there. If I remember any more naughty times, or simply think of another lapdancing fantasy I'll let you guys know.  Especially as it's great fun to sit in the sun and fantasise about strippers, punters and stripclubs that I've met. 

Ciao! 

The smoking ban is tres annoying

As a smoker (occasional, social, whatever), I didn't really mind when the smoking ban came into London a couple of years ago.  Clean air in pubs would be a novelty, although I was dreading going to a club - as soon as I get wasted, I start to chainsmoke. (This is true of many of my friends, but the government hasn't seemed to notice yet that the majority of young smokers only really start a fag session where they get through the first couple of vodka tonics, and then before you know it, the packet of 20 Marlboro's is empty. They seem to think all smokers are blowing smoke into babies faces, or couples desperately have those babies).

But the smoking ban has affected me in another, weirder way that I hadn't originally foreseen.  You see, a lot of the men visiting my club are smokers, and due to the new rules they have to go outside for a cigarette. Outside!  But I can't reach them when they are outside!  I can't hustle them, talk to them, or convince them that the thing they really, really need right now - more than any fag, may I add, is ME!
Even worse, I'm losing count of the number of guys that I manage to win over, and then, just as we are arranging to go, suddenly say;
"We'll have a dance just after I've gone out and had a cigarette."
But the ultimate worse is when the guy and I have decided on a dance, are just excitedly getting up off our seats to go find a booth so that I can give him his four minutes of absolute sexual delight in nudist form, when a voice calls across from another of his friends, "Ere mate, fancy coming out for a quick smoke with me?"
I've yet to meet a man who turns his mate down.  Nicotine addiction is obviously, tragically, more powerful than the call of a beautiful woman.

The rammifications of this go further.  The journey from the front door of the club to his table is a hazardous one, where he will be accosted by many predatory dancers before he gets back to me for the 'promised' lapdance.  Whilst we are (mostly) friends backstage, in the frontline we are out for what we can get.  And the entrance to a stripclub is about as frontline as you get, as all the dancers congregate there, hoardes of 10, 20, 30 women greedily eyeing you up as soon as fresh meat enters their line of sight.  The only thing stopping him from going off with another woman is his sense of decency and loyalty - so not much then!

Of course, a lot of dancers smoke.  I did some research and this article  in the Coventry Telegraph made me laugh.  Who knew that the provincial papers would be the only source of journalistic merit on an issue which affects me personally each and every shift?  It basically says that the council had been receiving complaints about a stripclub called 'Heat' (how ironic) after scantily clad dancers had been lighting up outside the club (surely lighting up in front of Heat is a canny promotional move?)  The really funny bit comes at the end, where the bar opposite complains that the free ogle-show was affecting their business.  Now if I was having a fag across the road from some sexy women in bikinis,  I'd probably finish the packet, hence spending lots of time at said bar.  Why pay the entrance fee when you can watch from 20 yards away for free?

In the West End if you are a stripper wanting to smoke, you have to put on these hideous long jackets, which are clearly a) second hand and b) in a man's size and c) are probably the bouncers rejects, and go outside to smoke in those.  They always stink, the buttons are all missing so you have to hold them fast with one hand, and they are always taken by one of the other girl, so there is usually a queue.  Oh yeah, and you HAVE to wear one of the regulation jackets, even if you have a perfectly serviceable demure long jacket of your own.

I'm shocked at the length of this post! I must really have a secret festering issue with so many aspects of the smoking ban.  I should, of course, rise up and protest, which I will, as soon as I've had a nice cup of tea and a fag....

Oops I did it again

Oops seems I have done it again.

What, you ask?

That's exactly the thought that was running through my mind tonight. It's barely midnight, it's a Monday, it's raining outside and both the streets ofnlobfon and my club are empty.

So i might have had a few drinks, but so what? Apparently whatever I've done is enough to piss a bouncer off. So he shouts at me, then I complain in the changing room over what a cock he us, then a manager overhears and before you know it

WHAM! A big fat £50 fine.

If you think I am being vague over what happened, it's because I don't know what happened. Specifically some lame customer complained about me - I refused to let him touch me in the dance, so he snitched to a bouncer that I had ripped him off. Usually this kind of complaint would be ignored, but he had to choose the bouncer that didn't like me....