Thursday, 1 October 2015

A Stirling Time In London

Oooh, I'm getting a bit late with this post.  Some of the more eagle-eyed of you will have spotted this week's Picture Of The Week on my website - taken at Rubber Cult in London last weekend.  I do usually try and get a blog post up as soon as possible, but day-to-day busy-ness has just got in the way.  So, a few days late, but...

...well, the trip started, as usual, with a Friday visit to Ess & Emm to meet friends.  Also, as usual, it turned into a rather late night, but that meant a late Saturday morning lie-in which tied-in very nicely with getting ready for the night out in London.  I decided to wear my long transparent latex gown and latex stockings.

Rubber Cult starts early - at 8.00pm this time, but it wasn't until 9.30pm that we arrived - mainly thanks to an accident at Kings Cross in London which meant traffic was a bit worse than usual.  We all cursed a little whilst sat in the slow-moving traffic queues.  Looking back, it was a premonition of what was to follow later...

Anyway, despite the early start Rubber Cult had a decent turnout.  As always, there were plenty of friends to chat with, fabulous girls to see clad in shimmering skin-tight latex and a very inclusive atmosphere.  I even managed to meet a very lovely couple all the way from the Emerald Isle - 'Hi' to you both!

There was a very good show from Libidex, with some rather sexy ladies modelling the latex outfits, and at one point again I got roped in to having photographs taken in the Photo-Booth with a group that I had just met.  It was a great night, despite a slightly annoying headache developing - which I later found out was probably due to my quickly-fitted head-dress.  Oh well.

Dexi Delite - Rubber Cult, London

By 2.00am it was time to head back to Warwickshire, and we began the trip home.

Now, some you may recall my rather ill-fated trip to Birmingham for the Deviance fetish club - or should I say the horrendous maze out the city that night.  Well, shortly after leaving Rubber Cult we found our way back to the A501 to make out way to A40.  A warning sign flashed at the side of the road - 'Marylebone Flyover closed - diversion in place'.  As traffic was moving freely (and our principal navigator had totally crashed out in the back of the car thanks to an over-indulgence on Leffe beer) there was a group decision to carry on and see what lay ahead.

The three lanes of traffic edged past Madame Tussards heading westbound, becoming slower and slower - thanks to the three lanes being filtered down to just one.  Eventually we passed the start of the Flyover - bunches of cars with flashing orange lights and chaps in high-visibility vests strolled around on the flyover looking important but doing nothing.  We eventually arrived at the roundabout under the flyover, following the diversion signs.  "Which way?" asked our driver.  We made a decision - straight on, hoping that it would lead back to the A40.  We trundled off on the exit road, which suddenly took a turn north.  ten minutes later, and heading towards somewhere called Kensal Rise we realised that our choice was wrong.

This, of course, is London, so a simple U-Turn isn't always possible, but eventually we headed back the way we had come to find our way back to the roundabout.  Eventually we found it again, whizzing around the roundabout trying to find an exit that looked more promising.  We scooted off on our chosen route, realising within a few hundred yards we were back on the road to Kensal Rise.  The driver swore - just a little - and we headed back to the roundabout again.

This time, we took the roundabout a little more slowly - with only three exits (one for Kensal Rise, one for heading back eastwards on the A501 and a third unmarked one), we chose the route less-travelled - only to find this was the route most travelled by everyone trying to find the A40.  We got stuck behind a taxi, one of its rear lights blinking dimly like an annoying twitch.  At least we found the diversion signs, though - first leading right, then left, then left... seeing a near-empty road heading left but in the general direction we wanted to be "the A40 is that way," announced the driver we sped away from the queue.. only to find ourselves back where we had just left the roundabout.  We joined the queue again, only this time about fifty cars back from where we had been a few minutes earlier, and decided no more pre-emptive short cuts were in order.

Eventually we found a tempting short-cut through the traffic-laden streets.  "Try that way," suggested the non-comatose one of the back-seat travellers.  Just before turning we realised it was the street that led back to the roundabout, so we felt we were now making the right progress and decisions by staying, like hunted wildebeests, in the herd.  We reached a T-junction - diversion to the right.  We took it and followed the road... up to the point were we hit another T-junction with no signs.  We choose left, and within five minutes found ourselves back in the queue just after where the original roundabout was.  Our latex-clad driver was now beginning to sweat, droplets of frustration beading on his forehead, and I don't think it was just down to the snug fit of his latex outfit.

We finally reached the first T-junction.  Before us, with a baleful twitching rear light, was the taxi that we had followed earlier.  "That's not a good sign..." I thought.  Ignoring the diversion sign to turn right, the taxi chose left - we followed, thanks to some strange idea that he might 1) know where he was going, and 2) be trying to go the same way we were.  It was a bad idea - in a few minutes we found ourselves back in the same queue yet again.  That blinking rear light winked mischievously and mockingly at us.  We started to see cars attempting u-turns in narrow streets to try and escape the carnage of the maze, adding to the chaos.  We followed the taxi again, this time heading for the right-turn diversion sign, then followed him right again, chasing that goading rear light down a few quieter streets.  A diversion sign loomed ahead.  "This is it," cried the driver, with a sigh of relief.

No, this wasn't it - the diversion led back to were we had joined the queue an hour earlier.  Yes, we had trawled those congested streets for an hour - it was now 3.00am.  We began to take turns at random, seeking our own way out the gridlock.  We left the route chosen by the taxi, finding a route that seemed to head away from the melee.  "Look for signs to show were we are going," said the driver, his hands clutching at the steering wheel like a drowning man clutching a life buoy.  "There's a sign ahead," I shouted, trying to see the writing through the trees that lined the road.  The sign became clear as we got closer...

We were back on the road to Kensal Rise, just off that original bloody roundabout.

We decided now to wake our slumbering navigator.  "Kensal Rise - fuck, don't go that way, go back," he slurred.  We reached the devil's roundabout again with it's three taunting exits.  I think we drove around it twice before he made decision.  "That way," he shouted.  "No!" we shouted back, knowing that way led back into the diversionless no-way-out maze that we had attempted getting out of for an hour.  We circled the roundabout again, seeing other vehicles struggling to make a decision.  We made one - eventually.  Kensal Rise it was.

We finally got onto the M40 at 3.45am, and it was nearly 5.00am when I crawled, shattered, into my bed.  I think we left the driver in the car - his hands welded in fear, stress and tiredness on the steering wheel and whimpering a sad, pathetic sob as he tried to control his breathing.

So, a sterling time at Rubber Cult, indeed.  After that, it all went a bit, er, well, tits up...

Dexi Delite - Rubber Cult, London
  ...and like that Birmingham trip, the journey home would have nearly broken Stirling Moss and Jenks.  I just survived, too.

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