The ethics of professional nudity are one of the great default arguments
that daytime television, talk radio, columnists and occasionally frontline
politics will elect to shine their dubious lights upon when there’s nothing
else to talk about. It came as no big surprise then to find myself adjacent
to two drinkers discussing the art of what Tina Turner called “Private
Dancing,” albeit from a somewhat subjective point of view.
Man 1 “She made eight hundred quid in her first week.”
Man 2 “Christ, so that’s her now then. No going back…how she’s getting
on?”
Man 1 “Well she does get on with things-I admire that about her. She
says the blokes are just-well you can imagine…”
Man 2 “What?”
Man 1 “Well, you know. They’ll show her a picture of a Ferrari on their
iPhone and say, ‘That’s my car, I can take you away from all this, you’re
too good for it.’ But, there they are…”
Man 2 “What does she say to all that?”
Man 1 “You have to play up to it. They told her, you can’t crack on that
you’re clever. You have to act the part. You can read books if it’s quiet but
you have to wrap up them up inside a copy of Heat or something.”
Man 2 “Yeah, I can see that.”
Man 1 “She had one lot of blokes come in that she said were alright. They
said it was the first time they’d been and she told them it was her first
night-which was true. They said they’d give her all the money she had,
which was plenty, if, when she got on the stage, half way through the
routine she started doing robotics.”
Man 2 (laughing) “Did she do it?”
Man 1 (laughing too) “No, she bottled it.”
Man 2 “I’d pay good money to see that.”
Man 1 “I’ll let her know.”
Michael Holden
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