Five hours in a Mayfair strip club

On Saturday night I went to Puss in Boots strip club in Mayfair. From the outside I'd had no idea of its enormous size. The building stretches along half the block. The club takes up three floors, each with a slightly different character. On one of them, according to the News of the World, Danni Mingoue once had "a no-holds-barred lesbian romp." Above the club on the top two floors there's a penthouse flat.

But such events are less likely now the club is under new management. You're more likely to see an arthouse film there than a blue movie. That's because the VHS Video Basement crew have moved in.

When the strip club closed, they didn't clear their stuff out. After leaving my bike in the stripper's dressing room I found myself looking through a large pile of application forms, with attached polaroid photos and audition notes. In another room I found an enormous safe. It swang open, but inside were the embers of burnt documents, for their eyes only.

I arrived early and, with torrential rain outside, worried unduly that few people would turn up. I read the stripper's guidebook, hoping to learn how to appear attentive and interested in other people. But it seemed to advise against almost any conceivable conversation: don't talk about yourself, don't be fun, and don't reveal any opinions.

I doubt there were many Saturday nights when the club's previous management used the VIP area to screen a black and white film about mediaeval nuns. The VHS crew did, and a lot of people watched it. I started on my first bottle of wine.

At 12.30am 52 Commercial Road took to the stage. They're a post-rock band in the manner of Mogwai or Godspeed You Black Emperor!. They often play on the squat scene but deserve a wider audience.

By this stage I'd started on a second bottle of Chilean Red, and felt myself slipping away. I spent the night milling around talking to the many people I knew, but was in no state to meet anyone new.

When the band finished, some girls started cavorting on the pole. I don't know what the etiquette is in a squatted strip club, but it felt rather rude to stare.

It would have been nice if there had been a DJ when the band finished, but I think the VHS crew didn't want the night to go on forever. So I left for Camberwell at about 2.30am as the night was winding down.

The VHS crew has grown in size, commitment and expertise, and this is their best venue yet. They've already repelled an attempt by the owner and his goons to break back in. I hope they're able to stay long enough to put on many more events like this. Here's their schedule.

And here are some photos taken by Kai Hendry to whom thanks are due. You can see more on his Flikr page here, including the rest of the stripper's manual.