Brighton; “The San Francisco of England”… a place where pretty much anything and everything goes…
…Where people walk their cats, drag queens are free to walked around during the day without a second glance and handlebar moustached men ride their unicycles to work…
(Seriously, this week I’ve seen all of the above at least once.)
So as you can imagine some of the strangest situations I’ve found myself have taken place in this picturesque seaside city, so where better to start than with…
The weird and wonderful world of Brighton: Part One – The Karaoke Incident
It was the first time my mum had visited me since I moved here, she’d booked into a cute little Brighton hotel, brought her fancy new heels and was armed with her camera for a weekend of relaxation, gorgeous views and drinks with her daughter…
…that is, of course, until I took us to sing karaoke in one of the most popular gay bars in Kemptown – renowned for being… how do you say… the place you go if your a lesbian wanting to go on a mad one (I couldn’t think of another way to put it. Sorry.)
We sat in the corner, drinking our pints (she’s a beer drinker, I just wanted to fit in) when the drag queen karaoke host approached us purring “Are you guys together together *WINK*??”
Cue to drink more.
After a couple of ‘acts’ (I say that loosely… I’m not sure a middle aged man screaming ‘Toxic” by Britney Spears into a microphone in between downing Jägerbombs and thrusting suggestively at the audience can be classed as an act. Although based on the last few years of X Factor I wouldn’t be surprised) a girl caught my eye, winked, licked her lips and beckoned me over.
Due to the fact I’m not actually a lesbian, I politely declined her invitation… but not before noticing she was heavily pregnant.
Distracting my mother from the nearby thrusting of a transvestite that was hypnotising her, I whispered, “What do you think that’s about, I mean if she’s pregnant she must have only just realised shes a lesbian… unless she bi. Do think she’s bisexual? Or do I just look like a lad. OH GOD, I do… I look like a lad DON’T I??”
“Is that a man in a wig??“ she replied, evidently not in the least bit interested in my dilemma.
After another drink I plucked up the courage to get up on stage to sing my standard karaoke track, Summer of 69. I was really getting into it; shaking my arse, pointing wildly… until an ice cube hit me.
Someone had thrown an ice cube at me!
I ignored it, I’m sure Lady Gaga’s had worse right? It wasn’t until the third ice cube was thrown that the red mist came over me and I flew off the stage demanding who was throwing them what the fuck their problem was.
It was the pregnant girl’s cousin, who had somehow got the idea that I was homophobic and ‘slagging off’ my admirer.
After a few screams of “why don’t you say to our faces what you were saying on stage” (and me pointing out that they needed to take that up with Bryan Adams), I figured they must be drunk, drugged and probably actual mentals, so tried to diffuse the situation by telling the truth (albeit slightly adapted) that I had noticed she was pregnant and was wondering how far along she was… then started to walk away assuming that the situation had been dealt with sufficiently.
With a screech that only dogs could hear the ring leader grabbed me and started to rag my hair out; swinging me round my by temporary red locks (just a tip girls, just because you dye your hair red DOES NOT mean you look like Rihanna. Trust me). Before I knew it the whole group of them had jumped on me, punching, kicking – and I’m pretty sure I had some bite marks the next day. It was so lucky that my mum was there; at 5’3” and 8stone she flew in like Jackie Chan and took on, and battered, the whole group single handedly.
After a brief intermission… where the bouncers physically removed us from the premesis and my mum apologised to someone who had nothing to do with the situation, but had somehow got in the way of the scuffle and was nursing a nosebleed… the whole fiasco continued out in the street as they ran after us screaming like banshees.
I spent the next ten minutes alternating between phrases such as “Come on girls can’t we talk this out like adults?” and “Say that again and I swear I’ll headbutt you, you slag”, before we finally hugged it out (as girls always do) and parted ways… Welcome to Brighton Mum x