Using my limited knowledge of the Speakeasy movement, mainly sourced from Wikipedia, I have crafted a wonderful but entirely irrelevant title. Apparently, blind pig is the period slang for a scummy bar, which is an odd but endearing phrase I may use as a future insult. I do complain quite a lot, but at no point in this blog am I going to consider whether Dust Till Dawn is scummy or not because I’ve not actually been there much, and it was a Jazz night.
Still, I enjoyed myself last night. As many know, I enjoy dressing up as much now as I did back when I was a only a little girl. Going out to Winton yesterday to buy our costumes in the charity shops covers two of my great likes, buying clothes and the smell of old people. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t quite know what the fuck it was doing and between intermittent bursts of quite violent rain (that was borderline hail, iced enough to pelt you some and yet still soak you through) we had equally aggressive sunlight (the kind of light that doesn’t just hit your eyes, but beats your eyes with a crowbar and steals their wallet).
The evening itself started shortly after the afternoon and went on through the night until, aptly, dawn. They say a picture is worth 1000 words, and being that I quite often write significantly more than just 1000 words I’ll post a couple for you.
I don’t have any pictures from the club myself, but I know that Arisa was planning on uploading some to Facebook so keep an eye out if you’re so desperately sad that you can’t live happy without seeing us all semi-rat-arsed at Dusk Till Dawn. You sad person.