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Hohoho. The truth is sadly very dull.
Should Tom Coates appear, he wears his diamanté tiara. Mods brandish their shiny helmets and we plebeians wear big cardboard badges with our names written in felt tip (unless you're a goth when it's usual to write it in somebody else's blood).
Such as Kegboy, Stoatie and Bizunth would require badges one foot square of course. Haus and Rizla just stand in front of placards. The Bear is kept on a long chain, under sedation, and thus requires no badge. Potus requires no badge either because he's always buying in drinks and carries five cameras, minimum, and tripod.
Then (the organised) Anna de Logardiere goes round with a clipboard, making sure we follow the standard speed-dating schema of three minutes' chat about Chomsky with a goatee-bearded youth then move on to a redhead for three minutes of Buffy.
Once the arguments about Lord Flowers' new shade of nail varnish become over-heated due to excess of filthbeer, Kit-Cat Club takes out her Chalet Schoolmarm whistle and blows hard, at which point we decamp to the nearest gay bar gay bar gay bar for more ineffectual drunken flirting. Ganesh & Bengali will do Morrisssey dancing.
Xoc will have gone home by 10 for a cup of tea and a good read. |
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