Straight Girls Hurt My Ears

Have you ever inadvertently found yourself in the midst of a situation that is the LAST PLACE ON EARTH YOU WOULD WANT TO BE?

My ears are still bleeding from being sandwiched between not one, not two but THREE screeching hen parties on Saturday evening.

Nathan had asked if I wanted to go to the drag show at Madame JoJo cos he had free tickets. “Oooh, clap hands with glee,” I thought and set about choosing an outfit.

I felt a mild sense of trepidation when the website said it catered for hen nights and office parties, but decided to pay it no mind.

I hadn’t even got through the doors when the fear set in, as I approached the venue there where two HUGE parties of Essex harpies queuing. I swear to God I have never seen such a dense concentration of nylon clothing. The profits at Primark must be soaring, not to mention a national shortage of red feather boas at Claire’s Accessories.

As I clung to the side of Prowler for comfort, a third party arrived and by this point I was close to weeping. “We’ll be the only two men there,” I wailed as Nathan approached me. He gritted his teeth bravely and nodded.

As we took a deep breath and entered, I reasoned that at least I would see some nice trannies, but the first two on offer – the Barbettes hostesses - were disappointing. To be fair, one of them was reasonably cute looking, but the other was like someone’s dad with a frock on. He had a visible five o’clock shadow, crap sequined dress and a KITTEN HEEL. Whoever heard of a drag queen in kitten heels, for the love of gossamer?!

Then some twunt had ordered a male stripper. YOU WOULD NOT HAVE BELIEVED THE SCREECHING. I didn’t know it was possible to achieve such shrillness. Words like “piercing” and “excruciating” are redundant, bats across London must have been hurling themselves against walls in discomfort. I almost started to feel sorry for straight men, but then remembered the racket they make watching football. What the hell is it with the polarized genders? It’s all either “WOOOOAAAHHHH” or “WEEEEEEEEEE”. Christ on a bike, a few consonants wouldn’t kill you. Or a volume several notches down from “hysterical.”

So anyway, let’s get to the show. We were introduced to “the entire cast of Madame JoJo” … all three of them. First up was an annoying woman called Miss Terri. Yes, that’s right, a proper woman, cos apparently that’s how the straight girls like it. And not a faux queen, to call her that would be to pay her a compliment. She was just a very average cabaret star – a bit like an extra from Showgirls.

She rattled through some uninspired show tunes, made two mocking suggestions that girls in the audience might be lesbians (at which point we started clawing at the furniture) then introduced the next act – Crystal.

Now we liked Crystal, she was like old-school drag should be. An actual man in a frock, she performed with camp humour, tongue in cheek and, though obviously meticulously rehearsed, looked as though she had pulled the act together in ten minutes. She also had the look of a pantomime dame which was endearing.

My favourite was the third act, a beautiful black queen called Sahara. She was more of a performance artist and there was a unique edge to her compositions. She did a stunning number with her hair pulled over her face, using an ornate fan to blow if back during the chorus, I think you’d have to see it to get the picture.

Between the three of them they did some OK versions of Madonna, a painful rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody (!) and an unforgivable bastardisation of Filthy Gorgeous.

I’d have enjoyed it more if hadn’t been busy hating the audience, even the staff at the club didn’t like them. After the show they are herded together and taken off to a nightclub. The manager asked with a wink if we’d like to accompany them, but I needed some balm for my ear drums.

Please, people PLEASE, I beg you, hear my cry for segregation - keep these people OUT of gay bars.