LONDON NEWS

TUPNews recently paid a visit to The Griffin, a pound-in-the-pot strip pub on the Clerkenwell Road. I’m pleased to report that the standard of erotic dancing there continues to go from strength to strength. It was early in the week, so there were few punters about. The bouncer welcomed me in by warning me that it “fucking stank in there”, but actually the smell of disinfectant was bearable.

The girl on stage when I arrived bore a striking resemblance to former FA secretary Faria Alam. I didn’t catch her name, but I’ve seen her dance there before – all smiles and neatly competent.

Broadly speaking there are two types of stripper, or rather I should say two types of performance. The first draws on the tradition of page 3 and the naughty seaside postcard – it’s innocent and unthreatening, with little suggestion of sexual appetite on the part of the dancer. The second is more overtly sexual; there is a subtext of “yes, I’m gorgeous – but are you man enough to handle me?”

Although it may seem counter-intuitive, it is actually more difficult to give a convincing performance in the first style: the slightest hesitation or uncertainty early on blows the illusion. But the Faria lookalike never falters – I don’t know whether this is skill or genuine enthusiasm, but she is always a pleasure to watch.

The next girl up was Louise. I was only mildly curious, as her past form has been uninspiring. The first time I saw her dance was at my birthday drinks last year; my friends kindly bought me a private dance with two girls. The first was a stunning Czech girl that with whom I was quite infatuated, the second was Louise, a blonde with something of the girl-next-door about her. The double private dance is a diplomatic nightmare at the best of times, as well as being an absurd false economy (far better to get two separate one-on-one dances for the same price), but the disparity between these two was almost embarrassing. Louise kept it strictly page 3 while the Czech girl radiated earthy European sexuality; I soon became conscious that I was spending the whole time staring into the Czech girl’s eyes and all but ignoring poor Louise. Out of politeness I chucked her the odd glance and smile, but she wasn’t fooled.

Tonight, however, I was stunned by the transformation. She has switched from coquette to vixen, exuding confidence and élan. It’s a quantum leap from the indifferent performances she’s put in up till now; I found myself genuinely moved. The moves were bolder and more athletic, the eye contact was self-assured, everything was right. It’s almost worth making the trip down to the Griffin just to see her.

I wish I could say the same of the next girl, but sadly her rank amateurism nearly spoiled my whole evening. For a start, no-one is ever going to get even mildly aroused to a soundtrack of Nickelback. Fair play for making a riskier music choice than the usual tepid R&B, but Nickelback? I have heard rock songs work before as stripper soundtracks – I remember a Polish girl last Christmas who played some kind of 60s garage track and pulled it off – but again, Nickelback? The performance was awful – the girl, who resembled BB6’s Mary, couldn’t decide whether to go fun-girl or sexy and kept flitting back and forth; her routine was unambitious and her movements awkward; I was relieved when the whole thing was over.

Dispirited and already starting to run late for an evening engagement, I was tempted to cut my losses, finish my drink and leave. I stuck around because I wanted to see the new dancer who had caught my attention during the previous set. She had surprised me by approaching me from behind and touching my arm – like most strip pubs the Griffin operates a strict no-touching policy, and I was visibly startled. She apologised sweetly and asked if I wanted a private dance, which I declined. She was pretty, the just the right mix of the girlish and the womanly; she reminded me of film actress Scarlett Johansson. The DJ/compere introduced her as Kelly, but she quickly corrected him: “Kel-Star”. This is quite eccentric - it’s not unusual for strippers to take on stage names like “Amber” or “Brandy”, but I’ve never heard a stylised name like that – like a name a rapper might come up with. As soon as the music kicked in, it was clear we were in for a treat. She had chosen some kind of lush, string-heavy, Wall-of-Sound 50s ballad sung by a European chanteuse – the type of record James Bond would put on when he brought some bit of Russian skirt back for a coffee. This set the tone for a virtuoso performance. Kelstar’s poise was marvellous; every movement was perfectly measured, her ambitious polework underpinned by a true athleticism. But it was more than the technical excellence than won me over: there was such personality in the performance, such attitude – again, that perfect blend of playfulness and threat – that all of us were enraptured. Such beauty! You have to come see this girl dance.

I left satisfied. I have only one piece of bad news to impart: it’s now £3.40 for a pint of San Miguel. The Griffin used to be pub prices.