It’s late.
Late 1969 and I’m in the Chelsea Arts Club drinking and swopping tales, with sparkling young things and their ambitious mentors, of farout projects funded by noble sheiks…
Ah no, but close: the Phoenix Arts Club 2010. Here I was thinking I had my finger on the proverbial and there’s this basement joint eluding my digit near Soho where you can find out where’s it’s at (Not in my wrist, obviously) and meet the movers n groovers of the very near future and the London Fringe. So that’s where I was yesterday sharing stories, skills and sandwiches (courtesy of a cancelled meeting at the Town Hall). We can now look forward to our performances being broadcast over the radio waves as well as additional artworks involving mammograms and slivers of silver.
Ooh I feel we should install a bubble lamp and light show somehow.
I’m also looking forward to seeing and/or wearing a mesh halterneck delineated by bejewelled lymph nodes; agitprop aprons; a burdened bridal gown.
Contracts are going out to secure these gems soon,
very soon.
