The Club 10:00

Welcome to 'The Shelter'. Leave your inhibitions outside. No dress code.

The dance floor is already a mass of gyrating bodies. Navigating through the crowd has become a life and death mission; you risk being trampled on every journey. Everyone seems drunk, drunk on a sense of expectation. It's the eve of the Millennium and the whole world seems caught up in its magic. Well, almost everyone. I can't help feeling a little cynical. Some of us have to work, so the rest of the world can party. There is only one thing I'm sure of - for most people present, tomorrow is going to bring one hell of a hangover. For now I have to keep my wits about me to avoid capture.

I suppose Billy thought the costumes would look futuristic, but, as I weave my way through the drunken revellers, I feel like a Greek slave girl. It's a dress straight out of a 70's sci-fi movie, a futuristic utopian creation from a male fantasy. In other circumstances the simple white folds of the dress might suggest purity, an angelic innocence. But if I'm meant to be an angel, I feel like a fallen one. A fallen angel with 'please touch me' tattooed on my forehead. The costume emphasises my feeling of isolation; it screams victim from every fold. It's not a position I'm happy with and my vulnerability makes me irritable. I'm not really an angel - I'm only human.

Copyright © L J Winson 1997