Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Sunday, 23 December 2012
I am trying hard to get into the spirit of the season, but the warm rain and nightly street-fights are making it a bit difficult. I had to help to break one up at the pub last night - I suspect alcohol played a small part in it, but you cannot keep a complete idiot down, sober or otherwise.
I had the most amazing dream last night, though it was a little scary. In it, a travelling coach-load of complete freaks were touring the country, and they specialised in terrorising whatever venue they happened to arrive in.
They were mainly huge (absolutely massive) men with extravagant hair-dos and gold, lurex all-in-ones, who danced lasciviously and camply in between beating the crap out of their victims, when they turned up at bars, cafes and nightclubs, taking them completely over and kicking out the local mafia.
The women looked like that android in 'Blade Runner', and were just as lethal. There was one midget who threatened to kill me if I went anywhere near the grave of a former comrade, and he let me know this by handing me a glossy piece of publicity which featured him in the photo standing next to a wall which had the threat about going anywhere near the comrade's grave, sprayed in large letters on it. I believed him, and didn't.
About thirty years ago, there was a small gang of very camp, gay men who terrorised the main streets of Bath by wandering around completely drunk and hitting passers-by for no apparent reason. I once saw them push an elderly woman who got in their path, off the pavement and into the street, so hard that she fell over.
This was at a time when gays were just beginning to come out of the closet in largish numbers, but I found myself wishing that this lot had stayed in. It was a really strange phenomena, and I still don't understand it to this day.
When I was sixteen, I went for a little holiday to Holland, and made the mistake of visiting Rotterdam one night, not knowing quite how awful the place is - or used to be.
At about midnight, I was walking down a large, windswept street when I saw - on the other side of the road and heading toward me - a group of about 15 men, all dressed in black leather with 'sailor' type, peaked hats with chains on, and they noticed me at the same time.
I had never seen 'Leather Boys' before, and had no idea what they were, but I pretty soon began to get an idea when they whispered to each other before running across the road toward me in one mad rush.
I ran for my life - up little back streets with them hard on my heels - until I saw a seedy little hotel, and I dived in and ran up the steep stairway of it and signed myself in for the night. This hotel had a locked grill on the front door - presumably to keep others out.
I didn't get a wink of sleep for all the traffic outside in the corridor all night, and I left at about dawn the next morning. The boys had gone...