May Ball Review: Hughes Hall – Passport to Pimlico

Laura Cowan 1 July 2009

‘Passport to Pimlico’: great idea, underdeveloped execution, except for the men in uniform. (It’s not a cliché—I do like a man in uniform, and Mr. Ball President, I’m talking about you.) I wanted more food – god dammit, vegetarians like eating too – and more alcohol, as the champagne ran out before I arrived and I never saw a cocktail.

The fun of Hughes was getting thrown off a mechanical bull so hard that I ripped my dress under both arms (not a euphemism, sorry). Again, sporty men in dinner jackets are always made of win, particularly ones that apologise for leaving the seat up in the unisex toilets. Unfortunately none of them apologised for pissing over the floor – note to ball organisers everywhere, that contrary to popular opinion, ladies in heels do not like having to wade through a sea of urine to wee.

The night ended in the Bomb Shelter, that special place where ball-goers go to unwind. A devil in a black dress had attempted to hand-“bagsie” most of the seats and grew amusingly irate when people moved them. As I sniggered into my hand, she cried 999. We offered her a phone, but sadly Crazy McBitch seemed strangely unwilling to use it.

Passport to Pimlico? More like Passport to Piss-take. But sure, why not, I’ll take it.

Laura Cowan