Afterwards, I went to Slimelight, despite my conviction that the music would prove disappointing in the light of what I'd just heard. While I like pretty much every genre they play on the lower floor - trad goth, 80s, bleep and some rockier industrial - so much of what I hear there sounds somehow lacklustre these days. But my main attraction to Slimelight has become the conversation, preferably with strangers. I thought arriving at 3.30 might mean everyone was too messed up, one way or another, to talk, but not so: conversation started quickly and continued at a similar pace. My favourite part was a girl randomly deciding to give a lecture ("The Social Customs of Slimelight") to the bloke I was handcuffed to.

I do not understand the mystical powers of my spiky thing though.

The spiky thing has ten rows of spikes and covers most of my forearm. Appreciably, not only does it look totally vicious, but it's fairly unique too. Such items have become somewhat hard to find in England of late (I saw loads in Australia, but didn't buy any, through fear of agitating customs): I got mine, red, in a hippie shop three years ago and painted it black. Moreover, though, they're solely the territory of theatrical black metal musicians. I can't be certain I'll get into a club or venue wearing it; it's awkwardly heavy; it makes it difficult to dance and hug people without inducing grievous bodily harm; and yes, it is a bit excessive.

It is beloved by the patrons of The Twisted Wheel (the alternative club in Carlisle) and The Pit alike. At Strength Through Joy, though, I wore it without comment, and the same happens throughout most of Slimelight. Metalheads and goths are, to a large extent, separate species, and many struggle to understand my appreciation of both aesthetics. I dress to ensure I'm recognisable as metal (apart from the odd occasion when I pretend I'm a punk), so I imagine many goths think, "Beeping black metal weirdo! What's she doing at a goth night? She'd better keep those spikes away from my fishnet and lace, or I'll whap her with my skull-topped cane."

As soon as I set foot in Slimelight's yellow toilets though, people go mad! They stroke it and make devil horns at me. Within a couple of minutes, two people had handcuffed themselves to me, and I'd had my thumbs bound together by one of those plastic ties. (Fortunately, the perpetrator broke it with a pair of pliers, as it somewhat painful and really inconvenient.)

Strange!