John ‘Hoppy’ Hopkins sat in a corner of the tiny Notting Hill cinema, illuminated by a single lamp.
A lady clad in latex and chains swans through the crowd, clutching an enormous crystal-encrusted, double-ended sex toy
Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn: epitomes of the ’50s and inspirations to countless wardrobes.
The Haunch of Venison is located just off New Bond Street. Here, it’s as if the legacy of Coco Chanel curled up into a tight ball and exploded into a postcode-wide tribute to overpriced consumerism. It’s where fur-swathed upper-class wives come to spend their husbands’ money and where tourists gaze open-mouthed at the luxurious designer [...]
The exhibition, coiling like a snake around rough wooden barriers and cardboard walls inside the Wellcome Collection, has the pretentious topical specificity of a university dissertation. Madness and Modernity explores topics of mental health and psychological treatment in 1900s Vienna.
There are a number of ways to escape the real world. At the hard core end of the scale there’s acid and mushrooms. At the tepid, watered-down end there are odd, one-éclair-too-many dreams and getting lost in a sci-fi fiction series. Right in the middle of the spectrum is the door leading inside The Macbeth, [...]
Producing a low-budget, five-person-cast production of a Dickens classic in parallel to a massive West End show is a little bit like commercial suicide. It’s like doing a remake of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings using clay and in stop-motion animation. I was skeptical. Surprisingly though, to draw the analogy out further, the clay [...]
To get to last weekend’s Slow Food Market you had to pass a building that looked like a dinosaur. A conspicuous omen, surely. On entering the square itself you were greeted by a van devoted entirely to chocolate in all its shapes and forms. Yes, I knew it would be a good afternoon.
I often complain about the 1960s. It seems unfair that due to a collision of luck and metaphysical forces outside my command, I reached my 20s not in a decade which celebrated peace, love and swing, but one ruled by emotional, faux-suicidal teenagers and men in tight jeans. This Valentine’s Day finally shut me up: [...]
First impressions of the Wam Bam club should be treated with caution. Situated in the heart (or, given the circumstances, probably some other less poetic body part) of Soho, there is a good chance you will see more naked breasts just trying to find it than you will once the show starts. Once you’ve made [...]
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