Near Death Experience

I nearly DIED on Tuesday night. Almost felled and crushed by an 18th Century pillory, if you please. Imagine! Me! Cut down in my prime by shoddy woodwork.

It was David Hoyle’s fault. He had decided to celebrate the 18th Century at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern so the place was transformed into an olde worlde inn. There was straw all over the floor and an assortment of gin-soaked, pox-ridden harridans on the stage to help provide the entertainment.

David himself, meanwhile, had been kitted out finely in Victorian drag - with frills, curls, a tailored bodice and the largest bustle you’ve ever witnessed. Like the cat that got the cream, he was, all powdered up like a dandy.

He spent much of the first section comparing the 18th Century to the current one. Are the gin-drinking poor people of yesteryear really any different from the work-shy people of today - endlessly breeding and lounging around city centres drinking Diamond White and alcopops?

He called for an end to the benefits system, a system that encourages stupid people to breed more stupid people. Hallelujah. I don’t think it’s so much the benefits system, but allowing people to breed has to be means tested. Thick bastards who, by circumstances of their upbringing, are uneducated and angry, cannot be allowed to keep on producing more generations who, by circumstances of their upbringing, grow up even more uneducated and angry and spend their time victimising the rest of us. The process cannot continue.

I think it’s a pity they did away with public floggings, a far better deterrent than some poncy ASBO which, surprise surprise, has become a status symbol not a mark of shame. The pinko twats who dream up these ideas have never had to live with the “poor, misunderstood” lower classes have they? Idiots.

So David came on for the second section to be put in the stocks and then pilloried. His crimes I cannot remember, but I do know the pillory was wonky and came down crash, bang, wallop in my direction, to a roar of uh-ohs from the crowd. They were probably uh-ohing cos it missed me. Better luck next time, suckers.

It was a riotous show with child abuse, prostitution and drink addiction. One of my favourite bits was when David pissed onto a straw bale, then one of the fat lady harridans followed suit. The whole thing kind of turned into a “how not to” guide for a course in health and safety – piss was flicked about, gin was thrown down to “disinfect” it and those not suffering from hay fever got to skate around on the dried-grass-over-varnish floor. It was hilarious.

Actually I’m becoming rather fond of the yellow scenes, I can see myself trying to sneak into SOP when Magazine is finished. I can wear those polka dot wellies I got at Latitude.