Inappropriate Clothing

I actually don't like Hallowe'en, so why I agreed to get dressed up in the most ridiculously undignified costume on Sunday, I don't know. I had an idea that I should attend the party at the Davenport Shop of Originality dressed as a warlock. However, not wishing to spend good money on an appropriate costume (I'm terribly mean like that), I decided to improvise with items to hand. I have a magnificent authentic Chinese kimono which - adorned as it is in shimmering black satin, adorned with a resplendent red and gold dragon across the back - I reckoned would pass for a warlock's magic cloak. I painted my fingernails a malevolent dark purple (quite evil-looking), and the outfit seemed to be coming to shape.

The mistake, I think, was adding a green satin basque and a witch's hat encrusted with pink, glittery spiders. Somehow, these items seemed to steal some of the darkness from the image I was trying to create. The final result (because I couldn't resist going completely over the top by applying copious amounts of eyeliner, thereby totally spoiling the effect), was that I resembled something half-way between a character in La Cage aux Folles, and Dame Edna. Oh sigh, these things just never seem to go right for me. Nevertheless, the party was huge fun and as the alcohol flowed more generously as the afternoon wore on, I gradually began to divest myself of various items until - by the time the shop had closed and we had headed off to the pub - I was dressed in normal weekday clothes, but still had on the eye makeup. This must have puzzled the somewhat sober and perfectly correct barman who served me later, although he didn't bat an eyelid.

I've never been good at getting it right where the correct attire for the occasion is concerned. I remember a particular incident when I once attended a ball many years ago at some Embassy or other in Lisbon. It was when I was working as a cabin-boy on a Swedish container ship. Our regular route was from Stockholm to Cape Town, stopping first at Lisbon and then various ports on the West African coast along the way. For some strange reason, I wasn't allocated my own bunk on the ship, but had to share a cabin with the Lithuanian chef - he told me that it was because I was his 'favourite' and he was always very generous towards me, although I was so naive at the time that I didn't even realize that some of the 'rewards' he gave me were actually illegal sexual practices.

Anyway, there we were in Lisbon one night, and Vitali (for that was his name) said he had procured two tickets for a posh embassy ball to be held ashore. He had managed to bribe one of the officers on board to lend us a couple of dress naval uniforms, so off we set for what I was hoping would be a very grand night of elegance and luxury. I felt so handsome in my crisp white uniform with its glittering gold buttons; I felt sure that all the ladies would want to dance with me. I was very good-looking in those days (if a little boyish) and had naturally blonde hair. We drew up outside the red-carpeted entrance of a very grand colonial-style building and were soon ushered inside by liveried footmen who I noticed were strangely wearing fishnet stockings and high heels.

Imagine my shock however, when we entered the opulent ballroom and were confronted by a scene straight out of Dante's Inferno! There were men hanging from chains in the ceiling, others were shackled in cages or strapped to racks, some were being led around the room on dog-leads, and nearly everyone was barely clothed. What clothes most of them were wearing seemed to comprise of a few pieces of studded leather, or items of very restrictive rubber. I felt very conspicuous indeed, over-dressed as I was in my smart officer's uniform. As far as I could see, there were absolutely no ladies present, and certainly no-one was in a ball gown. What a strange ball this was. I felt rather disappointed.

Then Vitali (who had often told me always to prepare for the unexpected), suddenly ripped off his outfit with surprising ease, to reveal underneath a studded leather harness and a leather posing pouch. A man in a rubber cat-suit (crotchless, of course) then urged me to do the same, but how could I? I wasn't even wearing any normal underwear underneath my outfit, let alone anything adorned with spikes or shackles. I told him that unfortunately, however inappropriate my outfit might appear to be compared with the others, I would have to keep it on. The party was in full swing now, and drinks were pressed into my hand by Vitali, snatched from trays attached to the bare nipples of the semi-naked waiters. That looked terribly painful for them, to me.

As embarrassing as it was, I decided that I would wear my uniform for the remainder of the evening because, even though there were no ladies present, I thought it might be even more embarrassing to remove it and to stand there naked. However, Vitali had other ideas.....

I just never seem to get these things right. I might give up the whole fancy dress idea in future - I should have learned my lesson back then.