From the Dickon Edwards revision of The Devil’s Dictionary:
MIXED FEELINGS, n. An alibi offered by an abject coward and fence-sitter.
More thoughts on last Thursday night’s Beautiful & Damned.
Even though I didn’t book the live act in question (as some Smart Alex put it, “Dickon was only obeying orders…”), and my mixed feelings on heckling aside, notwithstanding my stance on confrontations outside of wrestling matches, I do feel bad for anyone who had a less than nice time. If the club wasn’t free entry, I’d offer them their money back. And assuming My Friend The Heckler ever speaks to me again, I will buy him a drink.
For all my perceived haughtiness and disdain at current modes of fashion, I do want everyone to be be happy, one way or the other. Without anyone getting hurt or upset. Unless that’s what they’re into. My doctor is still convinced I’m a classic S&M case in denial. Heigh ho, anything for an interesting life.
At the end of the evening Miss Red told me, “You should see what I’ve got for next month. It’s called The Anne Frank Peep Show.” She was joking. I hope she was joking. There’s only one way to find out. For the March B&D, she booked a wonderful act called Kitty La Roar, a more traditional but perfectly stylish and entertaining cabaret singer. I should really plug her website:
I’d quite like to book a few acts myself, as I know all kinds of glamourous performers from various London scenes. None of them impersonate known figures of genocide in an allegedly entertaining fashion, but I still think I’d feel personally accountable if they went down badly. I realise that anyone who agrees to performing in a bar must also know how to handle a crowd. And they are adults, after all. But I’m not sure if I could take the stress by proxy.
Mum muses that this sort of anxiety runs in the family. My Uncle Mike wrote on his call-up papers for National Service that his religion was ‘devout coward’. She emails to remind me of The Cowslip Incident:
I think you were witness to my only ever face-to-face confrontation with anyone publicly, when I leapt out of the car to harangue that man picking cowslips from the bank between here (Bildeston, Suffolk) and Hadleigh. I know there were plenty, but they are protected so we can all swoon at their numbers on a passing bank, not screech to a halt to grab a few personal trophies…
I remember that well. Again, a stomach-tightening experience. Mum stopped the car on a country road, got out and heckled a man for picking rare flowers. I sat in the car and stared at my shoes. If the man had responded violently to my mother, what would I have done? Wars have started for less. But my mother is an experienced teacher of both children and adults, and I rather think that helps.
I now have a picture in my mind of Prince Harry, dressed as Hitler, picking cowslips from a roadside, while Bryan Ferry looks on and applauds. And running to accost him, the audience from that Python sketch about the cannibal undertaker.
It’s about time I posted some photos. Here’s one from Young Miss Seaneen, who writes a blog about her bipolar disorder. It’s been nominated for awards, and can be found here:
http://thesecretlifeofamanicdepressive.wordpress.com/
And her photo of me is here. This is from Easter Monday, at a picnic in Waterlow Park, Highgate.
