Clubs

See alternative nights out happening this week

I'm one of those rubbish Londoners who, while knowing that there is a world of new adventures to be had in the capital, invariably ends up just having 'a pint' in 'a pub'.
So the plan is to pick from the bewildering range of options in this section, and go out every night for a week. This should be interesting.

Friday
First up is a trip to the Black Gardenia, a sleazy Soho jazz bar that is popular, I'm told, with retro aficionados. I've walked past this place a few times, but never dared enter - it looks like a tattoo parlour. The bar itself - down the stairs and through a beaded curtain - is titchy. One battered black sofa, a scattering of low stools and a red banquette in one corner. We have to leave before the band arrives,but I'll no doubt be back - it's a welcome and quirky change to the pubs further down Dean Street. Feature continues

Next up is a search for a bar called CellarDoor. What initially looks like a horrendously pretentious address (Zero Aldwych anyone?) turns out to be entirely accurate.The bar is in a converted public toilet at the front of One Aldwych.

Downstairs is a slick pod, made to look bigger with mirrors down one side. We're met at the door by a tranny with fluffy black wings (and great legs) and stand at the bar, listening to Paul L Martin do camp songs and witty banter. Martin actively encourages chatting during the act. Heckling is a bad idea, however - Martin proves a sniper when it comes to put-downs.

Saturday
I opt for a daytime jaunt. Afternoon Tease is a burlesque variation on the kind of old-school activity you'll find at the Ritz. Downstairs at Volupté (are all of these things subterranean?) we find an opulently decked-out room and, after a welcoming glass of bubbly, we get the works - teas, finger sandwiches, scones and cakes, all brought over by waitresses in Carry On-style maid outfits.

I had, I'll admit, feared that burlesque was just middle-class stripping. Thankfully, it's all rather slick and refined, and more about the music than I expected. The highlights are Crimson Skye and Kitty Peels, a red-haired burlesque performer who performs an entertaining striptease on a carrousel horse. The predominantly female audience whooped and cheered. Great fun, and actually less risque than, say, your average Christina Aguilera video.

Sunday
The Soho Revue Bar is another nicely sleazy joint, with an eclectically dolled-up crowd lounging on the tiered red banquettes. We're here to see the performance artist Empress Stah. Now, I've heard about this particular lady, and it tends to be the more visceral and provocative aspects of her act that get reported. And yes, she does produce a string of diamonds from her vagina, and take blood from her arm and drink it, and shag a blowup doll - but those are certainly not the most impressive facets in what is a captivating performance.

Alongside the Empress, Ryan Styles performs spectacular surreal drag, and Dusty Limits is the comedy compere (his rendition of Sondheim's 'Losing My Mind' involves the finest drunk acting I have ever seen). But it's the lead act who dominates. Her final piece involves a ring suspended from the ceiling, and the Empress performs a graceful series of moves that would put most gymnasts to shame - she must have abdominal muscles like the shock absorbers on a 4x4.

Monday
Night off. The only thing I can find that's on is in Clapham. Blood-drinking sex shows I can handle. But I don't like going to Clapham.

Tuesday
Today brings a somewhat tamer option: a pub quiz. I have no shortage of friends whose minds are littered with trashy pop knowledge and trivia. The pub is on All Saints Road in W11, well off my usual north London turf. The lure of cash prizes and beer prevails, and we make the shaky Hammersmith & City journey out. The Pelican is a marvellous little boozer and the quiz is a corker (particularly the'name that tune' music rounds). We miss out on first place due to abominable knowledge of the actors who voice characters on 'The Simpsons'. D'oh!

Wednesday
I had a foolish preconception that in a transvestite act, the fact that you were looking at a man in the dress was pretty much the whole thing. My epiphany comes with seeing Jonny Woo strut his considerable stuff at Bistrotheque.

The Tranny Talent night is a chance to see the up and comers on the scene, but frankly it's the compere Woo who steals the show. A cleverly and slightly hypnotically told story about a mother, a son and a cat has the packed-in audience listening in hushed silence, while the musical numbers and gags bring screams and clapping. Woo's mentor Lavina is performing from Thursday; I'll be back for that.

Thursday and Friday
Scuppered by work dos, although I still manage to avoid dull pints in the local.

Saturday
I leave the delights of Social Club and instead head out for an evening of culture at the Royal Opera House. Halfway through the first act there's an announcement that due to torrential downpour, part of the theatre is flooding. The whole thing gets cancelled. So me and the missus find ourselves back out in the rain, wondering what to do next. The solution seems obvious, really.
'Pint?'

See alternative nights out happening this week