Ah, summertime appears to be here at last. It feels like forever since I was heading to work in the sunshine. I love it – the sun seems to make everyone more horny and relaxed – us dancers included.

Hot weather does necessitate some alterations in a stripper’s kit and working methods though. Parts of the job become somewhat more hazardous, costume bags need repacking, makeup needs re-thinking. Who’d have thought a rise in the mercury could cause such complications?

Let me explain. Most strip pubs lack air-conditioning, so just as we often shiver in winter in under-heated venues, in summer we sweat. Thanks to this, poles become too slippery to risk that upside-down holding-on-with-one-ankle move; and if any of the girls on the shift have spent the afternoon sunbathing in the park then come straight to work, forget any pole moves at all (suntan oil plus sweat plus shiny silver pole equals zero grip, speedy descent, bruised arse). Costumes with full backs and long arms become uncomfortable and trickier to remove as fabric doesn’t slip easily next to damp skin. Anything PVC is out, unless you’re taking it off again quickly. Long boots become pretty unbearable. The full stockings-and-gloves burlesque combo ditto, and feather boas and sweat do not make a good pairing. Lipstick and foundation slips off more easily. And you’ll notice those of us with long hair wearing it tied up more.

This may seem a strange topic to be covering in this column, as sweat is not a sexy thing to be thinking about for many people. Then again, really great sex tends to be sweaty, and I love it when performers in porn films drip with sweat as you can tell they’re properly going at it long and hard, without the director shouting ‘cut’ too often. So I should understand the kink of the guy who came into The Nags Head in Whitechapel on the hottest day of the summer before last (there aren’t any sweat stories from last summer, seeing as the weather didn’t get hot at all). He asked me for a private dance, so through we went to the narrow private dance room, which was even more of a heat-trap then the rest of the pub. I was dancing slowly to delay the inevitable ‘glow’ for as long as possible. Then he told me his ultimate turn-on was seeing women sweat, and asked that I try to get sweaty for him. Three songs later and he still had me dancing, by which time my long hair was wet down my back as though I’d had a shower and I was thanking my lucky stars I’d used waterproof mascara that day. He only let me stop when it was my turn to go on stage again.

The other thing I love about stripping in summer, and which is happily often to be found at The Royal Standard, is builders in shorts. That occasional touch of bare skin against skin during a lapdance adds a certain extra frisson of excitement!

With ever-hotter summers forecast, I think what London really needs is an outdoor strip venue. There must be somewhere with a private enough beer garden to allow us to dance al fresco, weather permitting. Everyone would be happy: the punters wouldn’t have to choose between enjoying the sunshine or enjoying nude girls dancing; the smokers wouldn’t have to miss half the dances due to nipping outside for a fag; the pubs would sell more beer as people drink more quickly out in the sun; and us dancers could top up our tans without having to cover up like we would in the local park. We’d have to watch out for sunburn on our delicate bits, but I’m guessing there would be no shortage of offers to rub the sun lotion in...