But what to do next? that is often the first thought of a young man, and in our present times, young woman, on leaving University and entering what might be termed The Real World; well, in Mimsy Whimsey's case, the problem was solved when his Grandfather, the Duke of Mansionhouse died peacefully and, the old prozymite probably hoping to curry favour with his God by his beneficences, among his many bequests was one of £5,000 to Mimsy; what a windfall! and he knew just what he wanted to do with a packet like that: for £250 he purchased the leasehold of an old Music Hall in the East End of London, Tottie Taylor's Travaganza, renamed it Mimsy Whimsey's Whirligig and set about establishing it as a truly Avant Garde venue for music, dance, and all of the arts which interested him; instead of rows of seats facing a stage, with an orchestra pit and a programme of comedians, singers, and the usual Music Hall turns, Mimsy Whimsey's was rather like a night-club of the 1920's and 30's: a scattering of tables, a well-stocked bar, dance-floor and a podium where a small orchestra or band could be grouped, and from where torch-singers would sing the kind of songs that stoked the fires of passion and encouraged an explosion of emotions; oh, such was the stuff of Mimsy Whimsey's, where the audience – predominantly men, but occasionally women whose inclinations, quite legal, but nevertheless, practised with the same discretion as the men's – felt themselves free to express themselves openly; in fact, the presence of such women was what gave the place an air of decadent respectability – in the event of a police raid, the pairings on the dance floor took on an air of acceptable heterosexuality, although raids were uncommon, for the bribes ensured that; but don't, for goodness sake, get the impression that this is a high-class brothel, or, to use the common vernacular, knocking shop! only a zoilus would suggest such a thing, for it is dedicated not to sex, but art, and occasionally the art of sex, but particularly the most modern musicians, composers, librettists, dancers and poets, painters and puppeteers fought to present their work here, and the patrons expected the entertainment to be of the very highest standards; Mimsy himself attended every evening and, naturally, was the principal choreographer – not of the ballets performed on the dance-floor, nor was he a composer or song-writer; Mimsy choreographed the interactions of the audience - he it was who introduced Sebastian Smooth to Robbie Rough, Professor Gilbert Greybeard from Cambridge to young Printer's Devil 'Arry 'Iggins of 'Arringay - and he was an Artist in the Science of Human Attraction; of course, Mimsy still had his Court, his entourage of admirers, and at the age of twenty-seven, still as flamboyantly dressed; cross-dressers benefited from Mimsy's interests, feeling themselves positively encouraged to be as extravagant or demure as they pleased - in this particular area there was no limit, beyond the capability and wit of the participant, flair was encouraged, hesitancy salved, an ability to pass praised, for it was at Mimsy's that Sir Quentin Benedict met Charlotte Bell, whom he courted with an old-fashioned sense of decorum and married just three months later - benefiting from a forged birth certificate for the Lady! – and when Savile Rowe, Assistant Editor of QQ signed himself in as a Member, with Adonis Sheehy-Skeffington as his Guest, they found the dance-floor quite sprucified and bedecked with bouquets of flowers in preparation for a short operetta to be performed by members of the D'Oyly Carte Company, accompanied by a number of players from the London Philharmonic Orchestra, dressed, for some reason which, may become obvious, as Roman Senators in their Purple; it was with some astonishment that Savile and, particularly, Adonis caught sight of a colourful poster announcing the World Première of A Putsch in Time, by the outstanding young Irish composer, Brendan Browne and librettist, Adonis Sheehy-Skeffington! confusion, understanding, appreciation, exhilaration, delectation, swept across the young man's face: "the ould bugger, Brendan, must've sent it over, oh the rogue, the rascal, the divil hisself!" and Savile called to a passing waiter for a bottle of champagne and, finding a table for two, pressed Adonis into a chair and gave him a cigar: "well, my dear, now we really do have something to celebrate – your success is assured and," raising his glass towards the young men, "may this be a Night to Remember!"