Speaking in Tongues

Regular readers may remember my outburst a while ago when I went to a Madame JoJo drag night and found myself trapped between two hen parties. You might wonder, then, what on earth possessed me to buy tickets for an Eagles of Death Metal Ladies Night at Soho Review Bar. Well, it’s simple really – Josh Homme.

I heart Josh Homme and I had an idea that just *maybe* if I went along and stared at him REALLY HARD and used ALL MY MENTAL ENERGY, then all the little tranny ghosts in the venue would use their powers to help me and then this morning when I woke up I would actually BE HIM.

I felt my resolve weaken instantly when we walked into the room and were hit by the caterwauling clatter of harpies. I had reasoned that as it was a rock gig it would be largely populated by rock chicks, and there were some people there who weren’t total muppets, but there was kind of an invisible divide across the room with cool people at the back and tragic munters in ridiculous outfits down the front.

It makes me wonder what they’re thinking when they go out to the shops – flicking through the racks going “no … no … no” until finally they chance upon the elusive outfit - a sailor dress with an ENORMOUS bow and a neckline that plunges down to the navel, or a white witchy dress that could have come from the bargain basement of Clintons at Hallowe’en time. I think that there is something clinically wrong with many heterosexuals, either wanting to look like that or wanting to fuck something that looks like that, it’s all mad. MENTAL.

The worst thing of all was the toilets, not so much the queues but the endless, mindless quacking about toilet rolls. This continued ALL NIGHT, different groups of idiots, SAME CONVERSATION – “Oh, I can’t believe there’s no loo roll”. GET OVER IT BITCHES - you’d have though the world was ending.

Finally the band took to the stage and lead singer Jesse started handing out kisses, so it was all swoony swoony screamy screamy. (Don’t tell her I told you this, but I even had to restrain the Hayloid from going down in search of her own tongue sandwich, I blame the cocktail I made her drink earlier at Enclave). Anyway, after the first couple of tracks one girl decided to announce it was her birthday, so she got called up on stage for some special attention. Whaddaya know if suddenly it wasn’t EVERYBODY’S birthday and at least 10 more of them climbed up on stage to manhandle the band members at various intervals.

The really amusing thing is they all go for the bass player, Dave. Now he seems like a nice guy but he is getting on a bit and has jowls and a turkey neck. Would they be so keen to make his acquaintance if he was Dave from Accounts at their day job? Hmm, I don’t think so.

We stayed for most of the gig because the band was pretty fabulous but finally we could take it no longer. The cool crowd at the bar was getting progressively thinner and the harpies were getting louder and shriller, there's only so much fun you can have laughing at them and pointing.

We went to the pub to drown our misery because, as you may have already gathered, THERE WAS NO JOSH HOMME; he was absent, removed, gone missing.

DENIED.