How a wild night at the Piers Gav goes down

Piers Gaveston is the drug-fuelled Oxford society at the centre of allegations David Cameron stuck his you know what in the mouth of a dead ewwwww no way. 

Described by DC’s contemporary James Delingpole as full of “poseurs, homosexuals, pretend homosexuals, exquisites, degenerates,” the Gav prides itself on being “slightly camp” – it’s named after Edward II’s lover, and its motto is Fane non memini ne audisse unum alterum ita dilixisse, or “Truly, none remember hearing of a man enjoying another so much.”

Seems like Hameron kinda missed the point.

Every year the 12 members, a self-selecting group of former public-school boys (see: posh twats), each invite 20 guests to the ball – ideally as many girls as possible. Previous attendees have included Ian Hislop (cheeky), Tom Parker Bowles, Hugh Grant and Nigella Lawson. “Cross-dressing is as likely to feature as speed-laced jelly,” claims the Telegraph of these parties. “The rules are simple – there are none.”

The real Piers probably never did MDMA

For last summer’s debauch, guests were given only 72 hours’ notice and told to turn up at a hired coach, before being blindfolded and driven to a field. Phones, cameras and IDs were confiscated, and guests arrived to find a live sex show on stage.

In an interview with The Daily Mirror, a previous attendee described a club-like atmosphere, girls dressed in “bras, pants, suspenders and heels” dancing to house, trance and techno music. “No one was naked,” she added, “but the guys wore leather trousers with their tops off.” Although clearly, that didn’t do it for Dave.

Hugh Grant used to be a member of the Piers

She also describes a drug hut where MDMA, cocaine and ketamine were dispensed by a dealer. “I’ve never seen so much gak in one place,” said another attendee – “Imagine a Colombian branch of Superdrug, except where everyone is called Tarquin.”

Accounts of Piers Gav parties are suspiciously varied. One account said the ball was “basically a very well organised orgy” detailing: “I had to rescue about 11 male friends, one of whom, a strapping 6ft 3in man, dressed in a nightie, was sitting in a muddy cowbyre weeping and begging ‘Please take me home’.”

Others, however, claim that the society’s activities are overplayed: ” The whole thing really seemed like not-terribly-debauched public schoolboys’ idea of debauchery.” The Mirror’s interviewee confessed “it just seemed like a lot of posh people having a bit of a rave. In reality it was grim.”

She admitted it was full of “ludicrously posh, awful people who were really snobby. A lot of them have ended up in the city.”