Morgana's Lair Fashion Show

Morgana's Lair: Gothic Fetish Fashion Show 28/10/2005

I'd spent all afternoon with James going over new business ideas. I'd planned a lazy afternoon going around the shops in Liverpool city centre before a nice sit down feed and going on to the show. James rang me out of the blue. Could I meet him ect ect ect ….. So four hours later after talking all around the houses of the idea, and some extra tangental wild shit, we eventually came up with two good practical ideas. Calling it a day,

"I'm going to a Gothic Fetish Fashion show tonight. Why don't you come and get some camera practice ? Maybe we can pinch a model or two for our thing."

So it came to pass that James did get on his phone and arrange for his girlfreind to get her thing together for steppin' out on the town. We had arranged that I would get the bus and meet them along the way, but I was just in time to miss the bloody thing. I saw it go. I rang James, Plan-B activated. He came to pickme up.

We had to pick our way through the mayhem that is now the city centre traffic. Everything is fucked up on account of the ©City Of Cultivation building works. Eventually we got to where we wanted to be and found somewhere close to park.

We made our way down the slope of the deserted multi story car park in the unatural glow of the strip lights. Our footfalls echoing in and around the empty space behind us. We crossed an empty street and entered School Lane, the Victorian buildings looming tall around us with their dark and broken eyes. Just a few hundred yards around the corner from tonights venue lay the birth place of James Maybrick, better known as Jack The Ripper. Near the doorway a thin dark clad figure in a white shirt lurked like a throwback to the times of Dr Duncan. Something about it reminded me of Bauhaus's 'Archive' video.

We climbed the stairs into the dim lit bar venue of Quiggins and as I went to see if I could find Steve and Julie, James and his good lady secured us a table in the back corner, and round of drinks.

Back stage was as you might expect, high tension and raw nerves. Everyone seemed to have turned up though and they all seemed to know what they were doing. Steve came to join us at our table and he, I and James began talking over ways to improve their web site. Eventually the first show of three started. The models all but ran around the bar. They looked like girls in a club looking for the toilet on full storm through. The first three or four went past before we realised they were the show.

There were delays, problems and thing like that which meant that Morgana's Lair weren't due to show until after 10:00pm. We'd been there since before 8:00pm, James & his lady hadn't eaten either. Still, we were enjoying some relaxed drinks and conversation. Steve kept appearing and disappearing. The second show came and went.

It was three or four hours since I'd had a toke and I was weighing up if I could getr away with a quick hit on the pipe. That's when James nudged me, two tables down on the right two student types were knockin' up a joint. So I took a quick hit behind cover. It was around this time I nipped up the toilet. On the way I noticed that two panes of glass were missing leaving spaces just big enough to stick your head through and ….. breath out the hit you just sneaked in the bog.

Steve gave us the nod and we got in position. I was on still shots and James was on film. Together we must have taken some pretty good footage. I was having some problems with the light though.

My view finder wasn't registering properly and I could only take aim after locking on to where some one else's flash had lit things up. I snapped away hoping for the best.

The models from Morgana's Lair numbered twenty four in all. Roughly four times as many as as the other two displays. They were loving it too.

They had scenes worked out. A funeral thing, a thing that reminded me of 'The Blair Witch Project II', a 'Phantom Of The Opera' sketch with the models actually singing live (and doing it very well to).

There were fetish nurses and at the end the models brought out a reluctant Julie who was hiding in the back like a big bag of nerves. All the models had given their time freely.

Morgana's Lair, 1st Floor, Quiggens, Liverpool City Centre.

I took James back stage and he did a little fiming and I took a few more pictures. All had gone very well. The folks from the B.B.C. had turned up as had the local press. Me and James had some good footage which we were going to use to help Steve and Julie promote their shop. We'd had a good night, a couple of leisurely drinks, met some new folks and had a prospective job in the offing.

Outside the moonless night was very mild for the time of year.

"Why don't we go up to O'Neils for a quick pint and a chat about what we think we've got and how we're goin' to use it ?"

"Yeah O.K.."

So we started walking. We got about a hundred yards before James took out his camera and started filming a homeless drunk. The drunk, can of ale in hand, began the rant of city drunks looking to make a friend who'll buy them their next drink, complete with wild gesticulations and half arsed accusations. James seemed oblivious to the danger he was putting both himself and his lady friend in. I was none to thrilled about suddenly having to watch both their backs as the Friday night gobshites began hurling abuse like;

"Ya fuckin' Smack'ead !"

This really wasn't the time or place for James to be pulling this kind of shit. We were in a back street away from the more heavily patrolled club and pub areas. If something kicked off then by the time help arrived it would be too late. Someone would be damaged, or robbed, or both; but James continued filming. Eventually he stopped and I wasted little time in getting us all off the street and into the pub.

"What the fuck are you doing ?"

"What ?"

"Filming the drunk. Why did you do that ?"

"I don't have to answer to you. Who are you to question my artistic integrity …..?"

"You wha' ? What the fuck are you on about ? What possible reason can you have for filming that ? What are you going to do with it ? What are you talking about 'if I make any money out of this film I'll find you and give you half' ? Are you going to sell it ? (I had visions of it ending up as something like 'Jackass TV') What are you doing ?"

I hadn't even started to bring up the danger he'd put himself and his lady in, nor his taking for granted I'd be there as back up if things went wrong. I got a reply that was full of wild nonsense about artistic integrity, how his business partners had ripped him off, and how I was in league with Tony Blair to impose a censorship on his thoughts, words, and deeds. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was I even talking to the same person I'd been with at the fashion show ?

Then James whipped out his camera again and at first I thought he was going to start filming inside the pub, but he didn't. Instead he ejected the tape of the nights footage and threw it into his pint, took it out, danced on it, picked it up pulling out reels of film, dumped the broken wet mess on the barrel table, and stormed out the pub in a tantrum pulling his lady behind him. During the altercation my pint was jostled and splashed on my shirt a little bit.

I stood there for a moment blinking, had that really just happened ? I looked at the soggy battered remains of film. That was real enough alright. I had a choice; go after them and get a lift home, or go after them and have a proper row, or stay where I was and enjoy a few drinks. Not relishing the taxi fare I downed my as yet untouched pint and went after the other two. They hadn't got past the doorway before I caught up with them. James was still talking a lot of wild shit and as we started to walk down School Lane lost the plot entirely and started punching the aluminum builders barricade. The girls going past were taking the piss,

"Wooooo !",

they teased. James went to take a second punch but thought better of it now the pain was beginning to register in his knuckles. He opted for elbowing the barrier instead. He yelled some more wild shit and I yelled back at him adding to the end of it;

" ………… and you spilt my fuckin' pint. Half my shirt's wet 'ere ya cunt.",

in hope of injecing a little humour into the situation.

"Oops, yeah, er I'm really sorry about that. I didn't mean to do that."

"You didn't even finish your pint."

"Yeah I know."

"I finished mine."

"Yeah, I though you would."

James grumbled all the way back to my place. We all have our off days, Gods know I've had mine. Sometimes we need to just blow steam and have a moment of madness. I'd loved to have seen how the film footage would have turned out. I was watching James filming and I'd guessed he had a lot of what I missed. We'll never know now ………….

Viper 30/10/2005

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Lounge

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First Published 22/11/2005 by Viperslair.co.uk

Re-published 1/1/2006

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