Gay Camberwell

I’m just back in London and I must confess to feeling considerable relief. 

First: that Christmas is over. The day before Christmas Eve I went to the depths of the Kentish countryside for some hard-core time with my mother.  In fact 90 hours of it.  It’s best not to linger on this experience, but suffice to say that it felt a little like listening to a broadcast of the Daily Mail.  For four days. 

The second source of relief is that I returned to London to find our one-eyed, one-eared cat is still alive.  Whilst we have a very excellent and lovely cat sitter (rather fabulously called Bruno), the last time we went away he (the cat, not Bruno) went into a decline. This time, however, he looks really rather well all things (the lack of eye and ear to start with) considered. 

And finally, I was able to check that the very excellent outfits that we have procured for our 1920s party on New Year’s Eve are as excellent as I remember.  Having eagerly got our tickets for the famed Prohibition New Year’s night a while ago, we’d failed to think through – until a few days ago – that we would in fact be required to come up with a 1920s outfit.  Indeed 2 of them.  I had, of course, begun the search in Odie and Amanda (who, you may remember, came to the rescue when I was in dire need of a wedding outfit), but without success.  Feeling that Camberwell had, for once, failed us, I had even contemplated going west (Amanda of Odie and Amanda had advised that this was the best way forward).  But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it (I needed to save my strength for Christmas).  Having phoned round a number of vintage shops to find out what options they had (which fell into two categories – nothing, and vastly expensive), I felt desperate.  But then, on Tuesday of last week, whilst wandering back from lunch at Petitou, I found myself passing SugarMomma.  It’s a shop I always speak enthusiastically about, since I bought my favourite black ruffle lesbian shirt there, but for some reason haven’t been into for ages.  Within 15 minutes I was en route home smugly clutching a gloriously appropriate black dress and wondering why on earth I’d failed to remember that lesson I’d learnt when searching for a wedding outfit – Camberwell has all you need.  The next day, Layla and I returned to consider their other possibilities for her.  I had, of course, nabbed the best dress.  But intriguingly, there were actually four or five other options – in stark contrast to shops in the rest of London.  With its charming and helpful staff, I really must make sure I go in there more often next year.

So, in conclusion, there is much to be cheery about.  And I see that Angels and Gypsies open on NYE.  If you are passing that night, I rather think you’ll see us in there, adorned in our 1920s outfits, en route to Prohibition.  Let nothing keep me from the tapas – another resolution for 2010.