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May 17th, 2004

like it's 1959

I've had a rather eventful few days, mainly thanks to minusbat, with whom I ended up going to B-Movie on Friday night. This was highly odd in all sort of ways. For a start we haven't been out to a club together since the night in the student union in York in 1987 when we had something of a row, and I stomped off for a night of passion with a rather disturbing Tory called Dylan who just happened to be the batlike one's worst enemy. We didn't speak to each other for nearly two years after that...

No such drama on Friday night, thankfully, though I was aware of a certain frisson in the atmosphere when he introduced me to various people and especially when he failed to. Curiosity was no doubt aroused by the way he just happened to appear with a completely strange woman while his girlfy Marge was abroad. I resisted the urge to announce, "hello I'm Butter, Marge's replacement"...

It was also rather odd because I haven't been to anywhere that Gothy since the 80s. Most disconcerting to be with the bat with a musical backdrop that reminded me so much of when he, sticketteand I were all teenagers together. And of course I am also completely unused to straight clubs. I'm beginning to come to the conclusion that gay men are biologically, physiologically utterly different from straight ones. The pretty boys I go clubbing with ingest huge quantities of drugs that are renowned for making one sweat more, yet they remain deliciously fragrant all night (even if some manage to combine the aroma of expensive perfume with that of cheap toilet sex this is still not offensive). But put a bunch of hairy hetero men with black denim, leather or pvc clothes on a dancefloor and after about fifteen minutes there's a decided aroma of incontinent polecat.

I'm not suggesting that all the men there were hairy and smelly. Many of them were rather gorgeous (under 20, short hair, no beergut - I'm not that fussy and there was a dark-haired bloke by the bar wearing pvc trousers and a Cyberdog top who looked like he'd fuck like a pump action shotgun, mmmmm), but of course minusbat didn't know any of them. He only knows the cute women and the ugly blokes. And for both it seemed that the bigger their breasts, the better he knew them. So in traditional rosamiculan style I managed to bond with a couple of rather lovely straight women and - you've guessed it - the Fagmagnet strikes again - a gay bloke. So much for bisexuals getting more sex... It was lovely to meet Helen the DJ - whose magnificent set managed to get me dancing to, of all things, The Mission. Especially fabulous to meet ladycatwho made me very excited when she suggested fixing me up with some rather delicious sounding blokes. Sadly it seems that one woman's "man with golden flowing locks" is another's "why is that man wearing a nicotine-stained muppet on his head?". I know, I know, I'm a hair fascist - not much on the head and none on the back, that's my mantra.

All in all it was a rather fabby night. The atmosphere is just right; somewhere between a Berlin cabaret in the twenties and a lock-in in a folky pub in a remote part of the Shetlands - cheap, decadent, friendly and incestuous. I shall be going again if minusbat lets me after writing this...



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