All Things Base, Leather and Lace

At the bar stood Kate, Manager and Side(s)-kick to John, The Owner, the Blessed One, he of the Easter Sunday Tequila Resurrection. I sometimes wonder as I wander about Sides which one of these august Denizens of Dublin nightlife does the actual kicking, but that's another story.

Anyway, I beheld a wonderous vision. The bold Kate was dressed a la Millenium in Viking-long, golden tresses and wrapped fetchingly in what could only once have been some poor clone's black handkerchief.

Being a seasoned leather queen- mes cheres, believe me when I say I've lived the life many of you can only dream of - I sniffed my way through the throng and thongs to the packed and sweaty dancefloor. I had to remind myself it was 1988 and not 1978.

There were leather clones everywhere, no doubt orchestrated by leather supremo Oliver - he of Oliver's Kitchen, where the chips resemble assertive moustaches and the bunburgers... well, enough said.

As I was thinking these evil (and very unsafe) thoughts Oliver actually materialised in front of me with an inscrutable grin on his face. Strange, I've only ever seen that grin before on the moving Madonna of Ballinaspittle. The Supremo was adorning a brick wall - which is the closest one will find to a grotto in a Dublin disco.

The same stretch of wall also sported the most wonderfully psychedelic projection I've seen since my seminal, drug-hazed adolescent days.

There were hi-hats everywhere: leather, peaked ones on many a clone's skull and umpteen in the music which was surreptitiously segued by DJ Tony M. Fashionwise?

Well, my siblings, with the gutter style so hip in certain quarters I expected to see more debauched mannequins strutting about. Sadly, it was not to be. The disco brats were no doubt stumped by the 'lace' requirement.

Bravo to all involved in hosting what was an enjoyable and outrageous night. Next time though someone should work on getting the S&M/Leather dykes out. A few were in evidence on the night, which set my heart alight, but others must have been put out by the ubiquitous lace code.

I left early as a tooth was killing me and all the ethyl in the world wouldn't have eased the pain. On reflection, maybe I should have stayed and got one of Oliver's leather boys to work on it...

Next month I've got a wonderful story about Dublin's Street Carnival which I hope I can share with you.

In solidarity with fashion victims everywhere, I remain yours ever faithfully,

Blondie Bombshell.