Jimmegee's electronic life

jimmegee

Saturday, 12 July 2008

As I appear to have been pigeonholed into the clubbing section (no bad thing, as long as it gets me in places for free), I'm going to continue by bringing you a more recent clubbing obsession of mine: fans.

I don't mean the kind of fan that stands at your doorstep, taking pictures of you and posting toenail clippings through your door (although my newfound Real City fame will no doubt lead to this shortly). I mean the garishly coloured, swooshy abanico most people come across when shopping for nasty souvenirs in Spain.

I first started fanning myself shortly after Wild Fruit at Brighton Pride a couple of years ago. It had been a really hot day and the cavernous club the party was held at was structurally on its last legs. (A refurb has since followed! - Ed.) The club was full to the brim, it being Pride weekend and all. The air conditioning had just put up its creaky, overworked middle finger and waggled it at the crowds as they piled through the door. The result was probably the hottest, most suffocating environment I've ever had the misfortune to dance in. For God's sake, I even took my top off and exposed my moobs to the masses.

Air conditioning in clubs is, let's face it, generally a bit shit but I broke out in a heat rash that lasted a week. Since then, I've never entered a club without a fan to hand. I have a collection at home - from a purple flouncy feather one used for our legendary New Year's Eve party to a red spotty one The Doctor made for a World Aids Day benefit. Fans are great conversation pieces: sweaty fellow clubbers tap me on the shoulder for a fanning down and ask where I got my fan from - I plan ahead, sweetie! It also looks fabulous for those hands-in-the air moments.

I think I’ll start selling them from a big cigarette tray at various venues, or have a Fan Club (just like Brighton’s famous Hat Club - but where entry is denied without a fan). Ooh, now there’s an idea...