Before the show we were granted an audience behind the scenes. Russal the “bear” Beatie kept a keen eye on proceedings, a mysterious giant of the showhall, with his keen eye and keylights, he is the silent watcher. His mantra, “stay cool”. Mr Mai Tai held an elegant cane in one hand and darling Kaspia in the other.

Backstage things were cooking. Hosiery was being lifted to thigh and powder applied in the most delicious combinations, perfumes mingled with fire

I will not divulge the things we were witness to in those radiant confines. The burlesque performer is a glossy cherub from the church of theatre and ancient rites of makeup, the artist floats amongst us as a glamorous visitation and must be afforded the most stringent privacies like cult queens of old. Except to say, at the risk of initiating carnival gossip, that these fine practitioners of the glittering moment are the most graciously disgracious hosts at close quarters that any student of the glamclub aesthetic could wish for. Impeccably mannered and dressed, (some impeccably undressed) smooth operators and sharp stylists alike, preparing for the stage, found a moment to sip Champaign as they swung into action as a small libation to the winter, the magic, the mountains and the enthusiastic. No, I will not reveal what it was that transpired back there behind the curtains. Suffice it is to say that these divine creatures and proponents of the neon arts are the very best of professionals whose vivre boheme is, well, Ohh la la.

The pasties were ready in the kitchen. The show was about to start.