Return to the Velvet Marmoset

Today, dearest reader, I should like to discuss with you matters of the heart, the beating muscle that powers us, which can be broken, stolen and uplifted. It is this essential organ, sadly broken in Nelson’s case, that dictated the fire based shenanigans I shall now relay to you.

If you are familiar with my poetic ramblings on this electronic diary, you will be aware that my good pal Nelson has had a lovers tif, a spat if you will, with his beloved Lady Hester. I have to admit to you that I have been struggling with knowing what to advise him, as my own romantic history is somewhat disappointing, and should not be held up as a fine example to anyone. As an example for you, I met a really rather nice chap on my fateful speed dating evening, we swapped numbers and I had high hopes for a burgeoning friendship. I won’t upset you with the full details of our ‘parting’ but I shall say that I will never look at a pair of castanets’ again in the same light. 

Anyway, in a fit of desperation I decided that Nelson and I should have a night on the town, to help him forget his love related trauma, and for me to forget my continued spinster status.  

We decided that Saturday night was the night, and we were going to the grand reopening of the Velvet Marmoset! We were anxious and excited to see the transformation of the club since Sister Josephine had taken it upon herself to be the glamorous hostess and all round ‘activity activator’. Her aim was to carve out a niche, welcoming environment for the disenfranchised, hopeful and downright shifty. (Speaking of which, I am sorry to report that Mr Pendle had unfortunately been barred before it opened, sad but probably for the best).

It really did look absolutely splendid, I clapped my paws together in delight. If pushed to describe the Velvet Marmoset now, I would say it was a strange, yet beguiling union between a Victorian Parlour, Burlesque cabaret and underground circus. 

Whilst gazing around I spotted a huddle from the local W.I. playing strip scrabble in the corner, and then I saw Hector, sporting his best evening fez. He was demonstrating his miniature steam traction engine to gasps of wonderment from his audience. Whilst I was peering at his velvet smoking jacket in admiration, I noticed a swift movement, then a shadow pass over him, just as he had got up a tremendous head of steam.

I looked up to see the cause. Of all the things I was preparing myself to see, I hadn’t anticipated or expected to see my good mistress, the Tiny Terror, perched on a be-ribboned wooden swing that dangled precariously from the ceiling. She was dressed…well…I may have mentioned mid life crisis before in my accounts, but this was really screaming out for some kind of urgent therapy. She was sporting a fitted, full length tailored jacket, over a mere suggestion of a skirt, fish net tights and a pair of her long black DM’s. She had also ferreted out her top hat and was wearing it at a jaunty angle, complete with a large ruby feather. She spotted me and cheerily waved as she swung away from me back into the shadows. She looked like a deranged, feathered bat. 

I suspected that the night was not going to end well for us, she had that troublesome glint in her eye. Through a complicated series of mid air gestures, I gathered that she was due a break soon and she would join us. Oh good. 

Reeling from this fresh aerial horror, I tootled over to the bar to find Nelson ordering a large jug of ‘Woo Woos’, and two glasses with the contents of a fruit bowl bobbing about in them. We found a secluded table to inhabit and sat back to survey our glorious surroundings. Nelson was especially pleased to find a set of dominos, his favourite after dinner game.

In my defence, I had never been privy to a Woo Woo before, and I must say I found it more pleasing than I thought I would. After several glasses we then decided to try a ‘Tinkers Tackle’ and off Nelson went, weaving as he meandered to the bar. By this point we were both feeling much cheered. 

I heard a kerfuffle and a crash and then suddenly, the Tiny Terror was with me. She downed her ‘Nuns Pippin’, and began to gibber away at me. I blame the Woo Woo, as it puffed away all my inhibitions and metaphorical brogues, to replace them with my over the knee scamper boots of abandonment. Of course I was going to help her create a memorable finale to the evening’s entertainment! I am nothing if not a faithful hound, and I will leap (stagger) Lassie like, when needed, and tonight by jove, I was needed! 

As we waited in the backroom, I heard Sister Josephine begin to stir up the crowd as she announced that the time had come for…

”Mistress Webb, Spindlehound and the Flaming Hoop of Destiny”.


ali hoop full res

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