Feature
Right: candlelit dinners
atthe Pale Blue Door in
Dalston, east London
Below a transvestite
performer at the
guerrilla restaurant
‘more ikea dinner par” says Tony. “People end
up taking to each other because theyre all
jammed in. They dance, they climb othe atic and
siton the roof Last weeka group of 10 were allon
theirchairs dancing et them get on with it”
catalyst for these entrepreneurs to
start up businesses in any free space:
some have been macle redundant or are
‘wondering ifthey will be, others are in need ofa
bit of extra money. Selfinanced by the organisers
‘but with minimal overheads, these events
provide quick cash-in-hand returns. They also
sive their ereatrs the chance to try theirhands,
ata career they may have always toyed with the
{dea of. Ifyou fancy yourselfas the next Jamie
Oliver, it makes sense to have atrial run at home
before actually buying a restaurant,
Te organisers are all surprisingly astute at
‘nding the loopholes inthe law that enable them
to operate without tackling the full egal
responsibilities of being a business. By taking.
“donations” rather than charging, they can call
themselves "private parties” totally legal in your
own home as long as guests have been “invited”
and sidestep the isue of whether they are
selling their services for profit. Others claim they
are“works ofan”, which gives them the guise of
an ‘rt installation” and buys them three months
in which they are allowed to operate freely
But thisis all grey-are stuff, whichis why its
advantageous to all of them to stay off-radar
‘Anna Mathias, a barrister who specialises in
licensing and gambling atthe London legal firm
offoelson Wilson, says: "I’snot black and white
ithe donation’ covers the cost of booze fd say
they were breaking the licensing laws, and ifyou
area fod business, you have to be registered as
such. Limagine they're getting away with it
‘because they're not causing a problem. Buti
these businesses were challenged in the courts,
think the courts would take a dim view.”
S ‘why now? The recession has been a
All these events depend on the intemet and ts
social-networking sites, which give far greater
acess to audiences than the 1980s rave
promoters ever had. The secre is out there — you
Just ned to know which Facebook group to look
‘on. Without resorting to mainstream advertising,
the organisers can publicise their events, leaving
‘out just enough details to obscure them from the
powers that be unt the final hour tthe Pale
Blue Door, Tony's frst punters were his friends
‘on Facebook. Now they'e friends of friends of
{fiends of fiends on Facebook.
Some organisers keep to private mailing list,
so only specific people can be invited along
Others issue their punters with cryptic clues as to
‘where they are hidden. Sometimes there isa
mobile number to call, with directions lefton an
answering message. At other times a last-minute
text message gives away where to go.
grown into an occasional night. But now,
although they've become legally above-board, Al
Insists they'l never stop being elusive. "Even the
‘most popular club nights end up getting boring”
hhe says, “especially ina small town like Brighton
where everyone's sick ofthe usual venues.”
“The secret venue is why we came,” agrees a
passing gangster with a cardboard gun. “Not
‘knowing where or what you'd get made it more
exciting. We booked as a group and were all
guessing where we might end up. If ike you've
Joined a secret club, which plays into the whole
speakeasy vibe of maybe being a bit illegal.”
(Outside, a splifis being passed around. Upstairs,
some sneaky poker being played. Ami the
dancing inthe dusty basement a rumour starts
that someone's crashed through the floor. The
fact that nobody has actually seen this happen
{doesn't stop the crowd keenly embellishing the
SOME ORGANISERS KEEP TO PRIVATE MAILING LISTS. OTHERS
ISSUE PUNTERS WITH CRYPTIC CLUES
‘AS TO WHERE THEY ARE HIDDEN
In Brighton's swinging speakeasy, however, who
knows how anyone ended up here? I wander
around the creaking Old Music Library taken
over by the prohibition sprit. Upstairs atthe bar,
string of molls are dawning whisky with the
boys in spats while the brass band furiously
blows big beats. There’ a boy in pinstripes
passed out on the floor with gies in tea dresses
jiving around him. A lapper recline on a shabby
chaise longue. Despite my inquires, they're al
vague about how they found out about the night.
Some say they heard through the grapevi
‘others were invited down by friends.
“We had 5,000 flyers and decided not to use
them. We wanted it tobe picked up on by word
‘ofmouth, for itto bea bit secretive and a bit
differen.” explains the evening's orchestrator,
‘who calls himself Al Capone. What he started last
yea, legally in an underground tunnel, has
‘myth. This isnt a den of seething iniquity yt, but
the shared sense of conspiracy has taken hold.
When [eave at 4am, a thousand happy fet are
dancing the charleston tapping outa code like
an Enigma machine.
Drunk with intrigue, back home on my
computer ype outa hasty plea. “Tell me your
secrets” Ibey all of my friends. Surprisingly,
they start to drip-feed them back. Word comes
ofa hidden tearoom somewhere in London
where a Texan lady bakes iced buns for gossiping
gals. sculptor tells me of select gallery —
invitation only in a dusty, disused peanut
factory. In an old pub in east London they'te
offering art lessons, with nude models posed
forthe life-drawing class. Then a rumour
{emerges ofa secret hairdresser’ in Camden ~
snippers buried between rows of second-hand
lothes.So head up to the market ona» 29