Sassy by name, Sassy by nature, I write to explode the myths which surround the lapdancing profession - standing up for the clubs, the girls and the customers. Its not always drinking champagne and playing with my tits - it can be hassle, hustling and hangovers. At heart I'm just a regular twenty-something posh cockney living in London who likes taking her clothes off...
God it feels good to be sat in front of my busted old keyboard again.
Got a mountain of emails to answer, with guest posts, requests for interviews and generally nice comments from lots of lovely readers, which have filled me with inspiration and va-va-voom.
But first, a little explanation as to why I fell so quiet over the past 5 weeks. Deathly quiet. I just didn’t log on, to anything – blogging, Twitter, emails. Nothing. (I’ve put a version of this on my blog too, just in case it sounds familiar to eagle-eyed readers.)
After the damb squib which were the Olympics – business was slow, slow, slow – my skin itched with the frustrating affair which saw hundreds of thousands of people with bulging wallets visit London for the sporting event of the year, but failed to walk through the doors of the West End.
It was painful.
I’d planned my whole year around the Olympics. I had big BIG plans. Visit a few festivals and enjoy the beginning of summer, then earn pots of Olympic gold, save up some for my tax bill and still have pennies for holidaying in September.
I was going to use the unusual situation to interview lots of other dancers, bar staff and perhaps even some club operators – how they had coped with the busy influx, the funny stories, the lessons they had learnt. How it all differed from the usual frustration of a long, hot and slow summer period, where any dancer worth her salt goes away or works on the coast or abroad. Perhaps put together some sort of e-book, pamphlet affair, so that we could stand proudly on the rooftops and shout