Dancing exotic but rules reign

The scene is a declaration that Shropshire's first ever lap dancing club, Midnights in The Parade, Wellington, is well and truly open for business and his initiation is the cutting of the ribbon, so to speak.

The guy is about to make history as the first person to have a legal lap dance on county soil.

He may be the first, but he certainly won't be the last. And as he leaves the private upstairs area of the club five minutes later, he is passed in the opposite direction by more lapdancing "angels", as they are called, leading other blokes up the same stairs.

A lot of people have clearly been waiting a long time for this kind of club to open.

Following a £100,000 refurbishment, Midnights is a chic and shiny "exotic danc" night spot aimed at upmarket clientele.

It is divided into a number of different areas, all of which feature wall-mounted plasma TV screens flickering with saucy dancing.

The hub of the action is the main club room downstairs where angels sporting the skimpiest underwear mingle and chat with smart-casual clubbers in what appears to be some kind of dream come true.

Amid the action, topless angels turn heads with their slick pole dancing routines.

It has to be said, these ladies are quite brilliant with a pole; one doubts whether county firemen are this spectacular when they swing into action.

The angels - all wearing matching red lingerie - are watched by men appreciative of their acrobatics.

It's fun guessing what kind of people the clubbers are - what they do, why they come here, and whether their partners (if they have any) know whether they are here.

But it has to be said, most appear to be respectable types; you would guess they're everything from businessmen to lads on a night out, a stag night maybe.

There are even groups of women in attendance.

And in terms of age, although most are under 40, the average is pushed up by a man and a woman (are they a couple?) sitting contentedly on the balcony. They look only several birthdays shy of a bus pass.

Indeed, if the public perception of a lapdancing club is a seedy dive, then Midnights would fail to live up to their expectations: there's not a single rain mac in sight.

It's not everyone's scene, of course, and personally this is my first time at such a club. Being alone, I feel a trifle awkward but I am approached by a number of very attractive angels who chat easily.

I particularly enjoyed my brief discussion with the Oriental-looking girl from Huddersfield.

"Are you alright, love," she asks. "Where are all your friends?"

She tells me she is surprised that this is the first lapdancing club in Shropshire; in Leeds where she also works there are 12.

Another angel whose scant attire leaves little to the imagination sidles up and informs me that someone has paid for me to have a private dance with her. Like Hugh Grant without the charm or the looks, I make a hash of my next few sentences and leave her in no doubt that I am an inept nerd who is the blood brother of Frank Spencer.

I retire to a corner to observe the scene, having realised an important lap dancing lesson - if you don't sit down, you don't have a lap.

On the whole, though, Midnights is a tasteful affair, if exotic dancing is your thing. The guests certainly cannot get enough.

The club is not too pricey either. Everything is upfront with a drinks menu and entertainments guide set out on every table.

It's £10 to get in, which includes pole and stage shows throughout the night in the main club area.

A group table dance costs £20, a topless one-to-one is £10 and a private one-to-one lap dance is £20.

The rules of the latter are clearly laid out too, to avoid any confusion.

"During dances please keep your hands beside you."

There's more exotic dancing, the types of things that most of us have only seen on Channel Five when we've fallen asleep on the sofa and accidentally woken up with a start.

As opening evening pushes towards midnight, the point when angels descend on to the main stage for an exotica showpiece, I make my excuses (to my lone self) and leave.

Midnights is only just getting into its stride but, like Cinderella, I fear that at 12pm I might turn into a pumpkin and leave half my footwear behind.

Away from the exotic world of Wellington's lap dancing club, one thought is left with me as I make my way through the drizzly night outside: the guy who made history by becoming the county's first ever person to enjoy his very own pole dance, that could have been me . . . the girl leading him by the hand up to the private lapdancing area asked me first.

By Ben Bentley