Deviants Directory

Deviants’ Directory

You know, there's nothing I enjoy more than a good meal followed by a fine glass of port. Except making money. Or beating old Bertie at shooting big game. Or stretching a fine young woman to my waist as we glide across the dance floor. But apart from those things there are few moments in life more satisfying than turning to my wife and saying in the familiar jocular fashion "Elsbeth my dear, that was a fine meal and a even finer glass of port". I smile at her and she smiles sweetly back at me as she swigs from her bottle of gin. Last night's meal was prepared by my excellent serving girl Mary. A sweet girl, she has suffered in her short life. Only a year ago someone shot her entire family dead. And when I reflect on how well she serves me, I sometimes wish I hadn't done it.

Mary's mother, Elsie, used to be the main cook here until one fateful afternoon when I was entertaining my old friend Sir Henry at the house. Elsie had a very humble background but had educated and ellocuted herself well, but for some inexplicable reason, on Sir Henry's arrival, she announced him as Sir 'enry. Of course I was mortified with shame, and even the Judge agreed I was left with no option but draw my service revolver and shoot her between the eyes, but obviously not before we had withdrawn to the drawing room.

From that moment I took upon myself to educate Elsie's two children and make sure such a terrible fate would not befall them. I tried to frighten elocution into them at every opportunity, but sadly the son, Anthony, was not up to the task of correctly pronouncing 'how now brown cow' and was savaged to death by weasels. Strangely, since that day, Mary has been completely mute.

Some may say what has this got to do with entertainment in modern London. Well, after a good meal and a glass of port you may wish to take an evening out. This is where my entertainment guide comes in handy. So what does London have to offer this month?

The Arts

Etchings

Samuel Brisley, the capital's foremost purveyor of 'Gentlemen's interest' etchings, is holding a new exhibition of his works at the, by now, familiar location of the back room, above the laundry, Greek Street, Soho.

Anyone who has never seen one of Mr. Brisley's etchings should beware that they purport to represent what a woman of the opposite gender may look like should a mishap befall them causing the decent covering of their clothing to fail to do it's god given job. I personally have one of his works and in order not to frighten my good lady wife I have to hide it at the back of my wardrobe, and only study it when I have the privacy of the house to myself. I would recommend anyone who buys one to do the same. Although I should stress that I mean they should hide it in their wardrobe, not mine.

Events

Servant Beater of the Year Exhibition

This excellent exhibition enters its 9th year and the big excitement this year is the appearance of renowned servant beater James Angleson-Goldthrope. An enthusiastic competitor, he started beating servants in earnest at Eton, and has since gone on to represent England in the sport. As always, it's important to remember that it's not purely damage inflicted that counts, but the style at which one can administer the beating. Earlier this year, at the British Championships, Angleson-Goldthrope's technique of being able to use an elbow to gouge the eye of his butler whilst simultaneously delivering a toast to the guest of honour at a dinner engagement earned him a clean sweep of 10 marks from the judges for artistic merit.

Apart from the competition, there are various stalls where beating equipment can be bought. The Marquis de Sade stall gets better every year, while a new feature is that for a small fee the general public can bring their own servants along and have them beaten professionally. Don’t forget to take advantage of the two for the price of one offer. Truly a fun day out for all the family, except women and children, who aren't allowed.

Literature

Oliver Twist

I had the misfortune of reading the latest tale from one of Britain's best contemporary writers (if that's not a contradiction in terms). It follows the story of a wretch of a child who shuns the morally constructing environment of the workhouse to become a thief.

How anyone can get away with publishing such morally irresponsible rubbish is a mystery to me. Dickens has a constant ploy of romanticising the illicit world of the criminal. But it is a ploy that fails. Where is the balanced argument?

Oliver's parents didn't ask for him to be born, so giving him to the workhouse was their duty. His blatant greed at trying to gain more than his fair share of gruel should be enough to condemn him alone, but no. He joins a mercenary gang of street urchins who prey on innocent gentlemen, stealing from them and hoarding their loot like scavengers. The pick-pocketing child of today is bludgeoning murderer of tomorrow, a fact sorely overlooked, yet this is the kind of reprobate that the reader is asked to feel sympathy for. My only hope is that Mr Dickens descends back to the sewers and takes his 'work' with him.

Dancing.

Anyone attending the Etching's exhibition during the day could do worse than to attend the newly opened ballroom not 50 yards away. Here, for the price on one shilling, gentlemen can have the privilege of meeting the eligible women who flock here with their chaperones - and who knows, you may get lucky and be asked to dance by some of them. Dance with the women that is, not their chaperones. One innovative idea at this ballroom is that gentlemen who consider it too forward to meet strangers can hire professional dancers who will dance, by proxy, with the lady of your choosing.

One friendly piece of advice though. It would be a very good idea to wear a prominent or easily read timepiece while passing through this part of the city. I lost count of the number of occasions that the bizarrely dressed female populace of the area asked me if I 'had the time, dearie' as they quaintly put it. I had to say 'no' due to not wearing my pocket-watch and I was amazed how this seemed to annoy them.

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