This is educational TV, BBC3-style: trying to engage with young people on their level. Sensible in theory, but this documentary blurs the line between an appreciation of the (biological) irrationality of teenagers, and a sort of matey, accepting attitude towards wilful stupidity and insensitivity. Morgan is forced to fraternise with colossally idiotic ‘speed freaks’ who say they would rather die than end up disabled like her, then has to quiz a driver about how accidentally killing two people while speeding might affect his football career.
This need to cover all bases eventually distracts from the programme’s worthwhile aim of instilling a small dose of terror in inexperienced teens, as a sort of inoculation against the perpetual horror of being responsible for a car crash.
This ‘Coyote Ugly’- inspired bar is bringing back counter-top dancing, big time. It’s on the site of Peter Stringfellow’s old club in Soho. Go figure. Dirty Harry’s is decked out like an American saloon bar. On the Friday night I went, it was rammed and rowdy with a live band blasting classic rock. I’d pre-booked a table ‘close to “Harry’s Honeys”’ (their term, not mine – and yup, requesting that on the phone was excruciating), but the girls don’t start dancing till 9pm, which meant I could concentrate on the excellent cocktails, as well as the menu of juicy burgers and loaded fries. The vibe was a bit weird, with the 350-capacity space so big it seemed to lack atmosphere. But when the girls got up on the bar everything started making sense. They’re brilliant dancers, and the whole thing felt sexy without being exploitative; about five minutes in, I realised I was actually whooping. On the way out, though, I noticed a big table of Hard Rock Café-style Dirty Harry’s merch for sale. Counter-top dancing, it seems, can be an art form. But merch? Now that’s just tacky.
Venue says: “'Dirty brunch', starts this Saturday and Sunday, fantastic offer from noon until 3.30pm. Bottomless prosecco and dirty marys at £20pp.”