Sunday, 18 October 2009
Hello Barbie, let's go party
The scene is the Royal Pavilion Tavern in Brighton yesterday evening, and that's me with two friends feigning shock horror for the camera. It just seemed like a great idea. We did something equally looney next second. It was, after all, a 21st birthday bash!
Later on we all went upstairs for some dancing. Cunningly they required you to spend £2 to go through (with an ink stamp on your hand of course), but at least there was a cloakroom (another £1) and one could at last leave the raincoat somewhere. All this was instead of going to Transister at the Charles Street club, but actually the music here was better - not disco, not techno, but throbby and sort of interesting, with plenty of beat that made dancing essential. You couldn't keep still. Not that I was able to leap about in my knee-length boots, but those hips got waggled, believe me.
And would you believe it, a young guy who looked Japanese (must have been a tourist) came up to me and said, 'You are a tranny? Can you come outside so we can talk maybe, yes?' Urk! I didn't panic. I thought it important for him not to lose face, so I replied pleasantly, 'I'm with that other tranny over there' which wasn't true, but nor was it a humiliating refusal. He turned away, and there was no scene. This seems to say two things at least. First, late at night, when the makeup's getting a bit tatty, I don't pass. No surprise there. Second, despite that, I still look good enough for a credibility-conscious stranger to risk an approach. That is a surprise. But why couldn't it have been one of the fabulous natal girls there? I'd still have said no to going downstairs and outside (yes, really: it was damned cold) but I could have had a nice chat in the warm.
A further idle thought: what would happen if, late in the evening and suitably well-groomed, I went into the lounge of one of the best seafront hotels in Brighton (the Grand, I suppose), ordered a coffee, and hung around for a bit? Makes you think.