This is Lower Saxony, Not Vegas, Dear

Funny reckons she hasn’t got a lot to lose except daily boredom and her entitlement to a student grant – which has just expired anyway. Her decision to make money as a stripper leads to a rapid education in the school of hard knocks, during which she sharpens her powers of self-observation as well as subjecting the men who watch her undress to close scrutiny. From the shelter of a tough carapace of humour, van Money describes the entertainment value of table dancing as well as its less savoury aspects. She doesn’t adopt the position of the embittered red-light martyr, nor that of the saccharine romantic. Instead she stands for an easy-going post-feminist mindset that refrains from condemning men for paying money to look at female flesh. But somewhere on the quickening slope between champagne in private rooms and mould in cheap lodgings, things take a completely unexpected turn…