electric_dress: [Belfast] *Government Hooker*

*I could be girl (unless you want to be man)
I could be sex (unless you want to hold hands)
I could be anything, I could be everything
I could be mom (unless you want to be dad*

[Click here for the previous instalment of the Belfast weekend]

Saturday

Asides fashion, Carl and I are really brothers in spirit. Or rather, in spirits - neither of us can say no to a good time, so after the shopping was done with, feeling somewhat under the weather from the night before, we headed to Love and Death Inc for a cheeky afternoon cocktail, then on to Little Wing for a slice of pizza and cwaffee. All three are hangover cures extrordinaire, although Carl was appalled that I ordered a panzanella salad with no croutons or parmesan cheese. The plan for the night was to attend a party in a secret Belfast art gallery location which was a tenner in on the door and was opting out, shall we say, of the 10pm Easter Weekend curfew applicable to other bars in Northern Ireland.

The Tesco in the centre of Belfast is one of the most stunning supermarkets I have ever seen - housed in a former bank replete with miniture statues and a gorgeous domed interior, we got the night's supply of vodka and the final icing on the hangover cure cake: Irn Bru. Then it was back to Carl's to trash up. We'd long worked out that my stint working with uber-classic Irish designer Helen McAlinden, much as I love her taste and collection on the whole, is doing nothing for the kookier element of my own style, and we vowed to trash up as much as was humanly possible.

The result: Ragged Priest tunic, Carl's vintage denim waiscoat, wet look leggings, Aldo platform boots and naught but a bra beneath, but only because Carl had no gaffa tape to make X-rated nipple covers to hand. I finished off with a smoky eye, bird's nest hairstyle and tattoo sleeve look inspired directly by Carlotta Actis Barone's show, and fuschia eye-shadow as blush. He went for a punkish ensemble - tee, skinnies, leather jacket and tartan head band, and we were ready to hit the town and fool around.

The party was in the centre, top floor of some old Belfast building, and we were let in by some nervy looking bouncers. The atmosphere was really chilled and after paying your dues, you were equipped with glasses and an icebox for your booze. I'd say it was after the Tesco version of Red Bull that things went into full colour from my viewpoint. We spent the rest of the night scurrying between makeshift smoking room and dancefloor with our friend from Glasgow Dominique, generally being quite riotous and obscene until hometime with a dashing Belfastonian called.....

[Click here for the next instalment of the Belfast weekend]