Invisible Stranger

Invisible Stranger

Collecting Crises on Old Compton Street and Beyond

Contact me

Little Tinker

Currently clicking:
- bboyblues
- bitful
- blue witch
- diamondgeezer
- glitter for brains
- london calling
- naked blog
- troubled diva

Usually Playing:
- ute
- neil and chris
- peter and anna
- june
- kurt

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Thursday, November 25, 2004
Mistaking Identities
I love shattering illusions, and altering the way people perceive things. I don't do it maliciously though. Well, not since I was a brat in short pants and I gleefully informed next-door's pig-tailed six-year-old there really wasn't a Santa Claus after all (although in later life I was to discover that there were very definitely fairies at the bottom of my particular garden).

I particularly like putting people, er, straight on sexual stereotypes. Despite what Graham Norton might have us believe, not all gay men are prancing sex-mad nancy-boys, and not all Sapphics pipe-smoking, bull-dyke Gertrude Stein look-alikes, and occasionally they even talk to each other as well. Sometimes it's fun to point out that the butch building-site worker is, in fact, a raving screamer, or that fragrant mincing hairdresser has a wife and three kids, and has shagged more women than you've had crises on Old Compton Street.

In my experience things are rarely what they seem, as was displayed in my usually quite well-adjusted and metrosexual-wannabe local only the other day:
Sweet Innocent Barmaid: "You know your friend, the Stranger, well, this might be a kind of personal question but…"
Friend of Stranger (sighs): "Yes, he is."
SIB: "Are you sure? That can't be right. I mean, I saw him in here last night on the sofa with this really, really beautiful and glamorous young woman."
FoS: "Oh, her. She's a lesbian."
SIB (spilling the Stella she's pouring): "Oh."

You couldn't make it up, my dears.