Lap Dancing in Maidstone

Lap Dancing in Maidstone.

The County Towns strategic plan to make the river walkway between the high level bridge and the Archbishops Palace as hideous a visual experience as possible is almost complete. The overbearing architectural nightmare known as ‘Travel Nookey Lodge’ stands as a proud sentinel gatekeeper to a visual feast of retail warehousing. Aptly in the warehouse marketing business these are known as ‘Sheds’. Eat your heart out Slough. However Maidstone council are not an authority to sit on their laurels – or any other shrub – and have turned their attention to the neglected South bank. This stretch of insipid municipal concrete has for far too long been only the regular haunt of the exceedingly thirsty and those in need of a little brown bag and hypodermic needle pick me up. Ok, I will concede that once a year the annual River Festival transforms this stretch of mundane river frontage into a quite splendid Bacchanalian carnival; an event where Maidstone’s decent hardworking stakeholders can enjoy the spectacle of warring boat owners setting fire to each other’s craft with the added frisson of unpredictable loutish behaviour induced by the excess drinking of beverages of a distilled nature. However what was really needed was a bit of all year round class – something to complement the planning department’s visionary acumen. Step forward Karen and Dave Elston.

 They plan, and the nesse-scary licences have been approved by the council, to moor two floating Gin palaces –stern to stern- and open a euphemistically titled ‘Gentleman’s Club’.  Karen and Dave are not hopeful amateurs in this business – they have a bit of form. They also own and manage ‘The Ginger Beaver’ a former pub located somewhere in the back of beyond on the outskirts of town. This establishment also caters for the discerning ‘Gentleman’ with ‘fully nude’ (is there any other?) lap dancers and that staple of Gentleman’s clubs from The Carlton to The Athenaeum – naked mud wrestling. You may be forgiven, if by chance you’re driving past ‘The Ginger Beaver’ for believing it was a derelict building awaiting the demolition mans ball. However I am sure the estimable Karen would disabuse you of this notion by quoting that wise sage Dolly Parton. ‘Most people just don’t know how much money it cost to look this trashy’.

 Now if the tone of this piece sounds as if I am against the Elstons project because of some moralistic fervour you could not be further from the truth. The 'Outraged of Maidstone' letters to the local papers from assorted God botherers who, as always, predict the full Armageddon wrath and vengeance of their loving God to be visited upon all that enter into this den of Hades - actually make me inclined to wish to contribute to its success. However there does appear to be a pattern here. In a town increasingly blighted by our municipal bleeders who’s vision can’t quite clear the myopic hurdle of cheap and tatty I suppose the entrepreneurial direction of providing a tart with a heart to gyrate naked upon the laps of paying punters taken by the Elstons -  is what to expect. They would of course be providing employment opportunities and I would not foresee them having any problems recruiting attractive hostesses as The University For Creative Tarts is local. Having twenty pound notes shoved where the sun don’t shine is a trifling inconvenience and a damn site more lucrative than the usual student means of making a bit of cash saying ‘do you want fries with that’.
 The Town Centre Mismanagement team have been so far strangely quite in making comment. Maybe they are waiting for it to open so they can send anonymous 'Gentlemen' to test the water and dip their wick before making a judgement. Invicta rowing club who have some tastefully tatty sheds adjacent to the river below the high level bridge have made a late bid to get this project scuppered. Through their vice president they have issued a quite splendiferously analy retentive statement full of Daily Mail humbug. Seems that young lads rowing past these boats would be immediately overcome by thoughts best not dwelt on - thoughts that rowing was supposed to sublimate and as a consequence gain an unwanted stroke.  Shame about the river side though, how it could have been – too late now.