Night on the Tiles

So I've finally been to the scary Woolwich Infant - AKA my new favourite bar.

From the outside it's more bleak than I expected, worse than on this picture. The windows are all boarded from the inside, supporting the smashed up glass. There's security doors on either side and a faint smell of wee.

The inside seems preserved from the seventies - shabby peach decor and an air of decayed glamour. The hippy paper lampshades are augmented with feather boas and there's a working men's club kind of feel to it. More Prick Up Your Ears than Quentin Crisp.

The staff make you feel welcome at once. Camp Scouse's only gripe was the toilets, but he's never been clubbing in Vauxhall and knows little of what he speaks. I don't wear thick soled trainers for fashion purposes.

Once settled with our beer we proceed to "gay spot" through the rest of the Council. I already knew there was one M to F transsexual on the staff, but imagine my delight at finding someone in a pretty high position is like Woolwich's answer to Christine Jorgensen! She transitioned years ago when she held a professional position and was consequently hounded by the press and public. Most people would have moved away, but she stayed now holds a very responsible post. I have to track her down and make her my new friend!