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Confrontational men in pubs

Started by 23 Daves, April 07, 2014, 12:36:20 AM

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23 Daves

I'm going to outline a situation that happened to me tonight, and I think has happened to me more times in my life than I can count now. It involves the man in the pub you don't want to talk to zoning in on you.

The ones that seem to latch on to me are usually pretty similar - they could be genuinely interesting if eccentric men, but their lives have taken a horrible wrong turn somewhere and despite inhabiting middle aged skin, they somehow never quite got through their fucked-up adolescence and out the other side to become a proper adult.  Men like Johnny out of "Naked" who have devoured loads of books but don't want to connect about them or discuss them, but instead use their knowledge to start arguments with strangers.  Men who enjoy weird, left field music and could probably talk to you about it sensibly and bond, but instead keep reminding you that they're odder than you are, and you'd better fucking watch out. Lonely obsessives who can't channel or discuss their skills or thoughts effectively and end up constantly brimming over with aggression.

I met another one tonight. I was working the door for a gig night a friend of mine runs, and this wild-eyed Manc wanders in and starts talking to a stranger at the bar about Bowie. "Bowie... he was a magician. Oh yeah, Bowie. I've always wanted to meet Bowie, talk to someone who is also strange. Imagine flipping a coin, and deciding to disappear. Clicking your fingers, going AWOL. Even I can't do that, but Bowie can."

Sweet, bearable stuff so far, at a low enough level. But eventually he zones in on me, and starts getting confrontational.

"Here, you should be paying ME to be onstage, mate. I've got stories. I could blow your mind with the stories I've got. 52 years worth of stories".
The conversation goes in this way for a couple of minutes, and I think there's a slight outside chance he might have something up his sleeve, and cheerfully start to try and give him the address of some open mic nights he can do and go on to get booked from. He's not expecting this. He's not expecting me to actually call his bluff and give him encouragement, then tell him where he can perform. So he walks off before I can finish, pissed off. 52 years and he's never set foot on a stage, and he's probably not going to start now. The roaring, appreciative audience will always be in his imagination.

Five minutes later, he comes back, and tries to barge me out of the way and get in for free.

"I'VE PAID".
"No you haven't, you've not paid me, and I'm the only one here taking money".
"I'm on the list, MY NAME IS IAN".
*Shove*.
So I shove the bloke back, tell him no way, get fucking stuffed, and he leaves and goes and sits at a nearby table in the front of the pub, initially giggling to himself, then eventually  glaring at me, sulking, telling everyone who'll listen or join him in a conversation (no-one) that he's "an OK bloke, really".  Then he starts bothering every single woman who enters the place, spreading the uncomfortable feeling across to the other gender as these men so often do - verbal threats for the men, mild sexual harassment for the women.

Two feelings always come out of situations like this. One is anger, because all I really want to is to enjoy my interests and the company of others without being harassed by someone with a chip on their shoulder.  You can't relax if there's someone else in the room who seems on the edge of kicking off.  The other is pity, because the man usually is a bit odd, a bit weird, but unlike a lot of the other people I know has never grown into being comfortable with that, and has probably lived his entire life in situations where all he's had to do is defend himself, until eventually that becomes so habitual that he can't get through to anyone at all.  The kind of man with no friends who goes into a pub where no-one knows him, and tries to bully everyone into engaging with banter with him, then when they walk off ignoring him feels even more self-loathing and aggression.  You get the feeling it never ends well for these men. One part of you thinks "Well, good". The other half thinks "But that could have been me, if my life had taken the wrong fork in the road".

Anyway, short version - they depress me with conflicting emotions. But do talk about your own experiences too.

garbed_attic

Aw I thought that said "confessional" men in pubs - and since I'm about to go and read The Fall, I was quite taken with the notion!

I deserve to have been beaten up in a pub. One of the locals near Ipswich had a jukebox machine for a while that was connected up to the internet. Millions of songs. My friend Peter and I played The Residents and Aphex Twin and the locals did their best to tune it out, bless 'em.

Hangthebuggers

Went to a gig with a mate's band in Glastonbury. The King Arthur

The gig was alright, not brilliant. Smallish crowd at first until the latter hours, I just went for a few drinks and to see the town. So the gig is alright... Maybe a room of about 10-15 people........ Then some 50 year old punk guy turned up and started flattening people. Over the top wrestling moves like piledrivers and out-of-the-blue clotheslines and stuff, just grabbing people and slamming them.
Fair play, I think. The local charm.
Strangely, despite my gangly frame, he didn't target me. Maybe because I was chatting shit to someone in my northern drawl, or maybe i was just lucky.

The next day, we all wake up with terrible hangovers and head to the cafes and such, then for a brisk walk on the tor for a smoke and a bit of lovely nice wind.

Then on the way back down we bump into 'punk' man who had been beating everyone up in wrestling moves, but it turns out he was just passing through Glastonbury and wasn't a resident. And just decided to attack everyone for no reason. I thought he was mates with everyone he'd had in a headlock or clotheslined or elbow dropped, but apparently not. He didn't know any of them.

imitationleather

The worst thing about pubs is the men with grey Liam Gallagher haircuts who have scored a mentally unsound girlfriend significantly younger than them and so think they are the business.

They can eat my hole all day long.

the psyche intangible

I'm the internally confrontational man on the street to pretty much anyone on the streets when I walk about. Scowling doesn't fit me so 'fuck off' within me to them satisfy's me to a degree.

Move, my streets, move it cunt, you're old you should know by now and couldn't give a penny if you cruise a chair.

A darling in pubs.

tookish

There are three types of confrontational men[nb]In case Still Not George looks in on this thread, I should say that I was once also confronted by a woman outside Vaults in Exeter, who took issue with A's face. I asked her, very politely, to please leave us alone, as we were trying to have a nice night. She started squaring up to me, E leapt in and started shouting. Things looked like they might get messy, so, since my attempts at diplomacy were falling on twattish ears, I told them in quiet, dangerous tones that I was carrying a sword and knew how to use it (I wasn't and don't) and they all shuffled off to about ten feet away and continued smoking, glaring at us, but presenting no further threat. [/nb] who tend to approach me in bars.

1.  As someone with an 'unusual' appearance (weird clothes, ambiguous gender presentation) I will often experience a pissed (oddly often also bald) gent or two plonk themselves down at my table and begin rambling at length about their admiration for 'my work', about how I'm an inspiration, about how I must keep on, I must never stop, and so on. I never have any idea what they're talking about, and it's immensely uncomfortable for anybody I'm with, but of course it's not unflattering - my main issue is never knowing if they are mocking me and the situation will suddenly turn violent. There is also always a strong chance that men of this sort will lean in extremely quickly for an unexpected kiss. Undoubtedly the lesser of three evils, these men are nonetheless intimidating and irritating to be around.

2. If there is ever a lecherous man in his fifties who won't take no for an answer, I can fucking guarantee that these legless Lotharios will home in on me and start attempting, in excruciating inebriated style, to win my favour [nb]I'm not conventionally attractive or particularly good at socialising with strangers, so whatever allure I hold is a mystery to me.[/nb],with tactics ranging from some poor pissed sod attempting to subtly inch a hand across the bar onto my chest, to a very well-upholstered gentleman showing me pictures of taut, rippling abs on his phone, which he insisted were his. (Astoundingly, he refused to lift his straining shirt and prove himself.)

Flirting isn't an issue, obviously, but when it's laced with entitlement and misogyny, they can get to fuck, and these cunts never, ever understand the word 'no.' On the plus side, they usually think I'm a woman, so sometimes I pretend their disgusting sexism is a turn-on, and then reveal that I'm a man somewhere along the line. Watching them backing the fuck off in horror gives me energy.

Less amusing story - a man at a Hallowe'en club night I am pretty sure was intending to rape and/or murder me, who danced me into a corner and started whispering into my ear that he was going to fuck me like I'd never been fucked, and to give him my phone because it had to be 'just us', and that he was glad I was wearing a mask because it 'made me anonymous'. After which he started choking me against the wall. No fucking joke. Fortunately my friend Chris came up and said I was his partner, and he sidled off while – having been frozen in a rictus of horror - I regained motor functions, and screamed after him like a fishwife. WEEEYYY LAD.

3. Bovine, piss-coloured posh-boy pricks from the university, slathered in fake tan, wearing childish costumes, and usually on some kind of knobbish sports social. They like to try and humiliate me in order to show off to the women around them, by asking to 'see my knob' or 'feel my tits.' I tend to get my own back by pretending not to understand their vulgar jokes, and asking for endless explanations, forcing them to qualify their transphobia in front of all the women they so long to impress. Or I just throw a tasty bit of snark at them and waltz off, leaving them bewildered. There have been a few scarier situations, but I try not to dwell on them, because I can rest safe in the knowledge that I may be a 'fat tranny,' but at least I'm not a resounding thundercunt.

imitationleather

Those guys don't have a clue what's going on.

I have a face which middle aged homosexuals like. It's proper.

Thomas

As regaled a few weeks ago, I went on my first 'pub crawl' this year and, in the second pub, got grabbed by the throat and headbutted. What a lark.

tookish

You stick by me, Thomas, me lad, and you'll stay safe from harm. I have the ears and ears of a hawk.

salr

Quote from: Thomas on April 07, 2014, 08:37:33 AM
As regaled a few weeks ago, I went on my first 'pub crawl' this year and, in the second pub, got grabbed by the throat and headbutted. What a lark.

I don't remember this story please tell it again.

PLZ FUCKINMG TELL IT AGAIN OR I SWEAR I WILL CUT YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

Thomas

tookish help

Here is the tale -

Quote from: Thomas on February 16, 2014, 09:01:45 PM
Experienced what one might deem a 'laddish encounter' last night.

Visiting my friend in Leeds, we went to a pub/club for his friend's birthday. By the end of the eve we'd have frequented ten such houses, and I'd be dizzy with Coca Cola, but for now we were on the second - and in our company was 'a psycho', a 'crazy' guy.

All was amiable at first. He drunkenly chatted to me about his philosophy of life and what have you, but eventually, under the impression that I'd been talking about him to his ex/not ex, he grabbed my neck and pushed my face down into the sofa seat.

I initially thought it was a joke, but I became suddenly aware of all the tubes and vessels in my throat. He growled into my ear - 'don't talk about me to her' - and smacked the side of my head with the fore of his own. I rose, straightening my ruckled tweed, to see that the girl he was so passionate about had been knocked to the floor, lying in a pool of freshly smashed glass. The guy stormed off, and I realised it probably wasn't a joke.

Students are funny ain't they

Funcrusher

The north does seem to be particularly good at producing specimens like this. If Mark E. Smith hadn't made a go of The Fall he would have been one of these.

23 Daves

#12
Quote from: imitationleather on April 07, 2014, 03:02:12 AM
The worst thing about pubs is the men with grey Liam Gallagher haircuts who have scored a mentally unsound girlfriend significantly younger than them and so think they are the business.


In the nineties in Portsmouth and Southsea, these men were legion. Men who were getting on a bit, used to like The Jam, but had now heard Oasis and decided they were having a second flush of youth, eighteen year old girlfriend in tow. Or maybe fourteen year old girlfriend, in one particular case I can think of.  The one brilliant thing about it all was that the girlfriend almost always ended up having an epiphany and suddenly dumping them, then you wouldn't see their sorry faces for a few months. 

I used to know one who was convinced I was after his girlfriend (I wasn't, she was too young) and that I had some kind of vendetta against him and was "interfering with his Vespa" (I didn't like the twat, but I didn't dislike him enough to actually be pushed to the point of vandalising his vehicle, though I'm sure he'd pushed enough other people to that point). Frostiness between me and him ensued whenever he was in the pub.  Again, a tragic case deep down.  He had a stammer (actually barely noticeable) which he thought prevented him from doing anything other than working in a factory. Although the less charitable viewpoint on that was the mild stammer was probably just used as an excuse for the fact he didn't have many qualifications or skills. Or charm. Or the ability to be in the same room as other people without annoying them. Or anything else which might have been of use in life.

Actually, another thought is that when you talk to hecklers at comedy nights they're usually these sorts of men as well. The bloke last night reminded me a bit of this heckler at Richard Herring's gig, only with a Manc accent: http://youtu.be/xtjx-yplqTw

Queneau

Quote from: the psyche intangible on April 07, 2014, 03:13:27 AM
I'm the internally confrontational man on the street to pretty much anyone on the streets when I walk about. Scowling doesn't fit me so 'fuck off' within me to them satisfy's me to a degree.

Move, my streets, move it cunt, you're old you should know by now and couldn't give a penny if you cruise a chair.

The scary thing is I have become a lot more aggressive towards people recently without really thinking. The other day a fella stood directly in front of the train door so that I had to squeeze to get past him. He was standing on the platform and I was getting off the train. So I pushed a lot harder than I needed to and sent him back a bit. A few days later a different fella (I'm pretty sure he was) stood directly blocking the other side of the ticket barrier reading a newspaper. Again, I shoved into him. And three days ago there's a similar situation except this time I put a lot of weight into this one and properly try to go for him. I'm not sure whether this is a result of a build up of shitty experiences on and off trains and having to stand up for entire journeys or having lots of people treat me like shit during them. It could be that it's starting to leak out of me or it could be that I'm turning into a horrible person. My stress has nothing to do with them. But then I am the complete opposite to anyone even remotely polite or courteous. I usually want to defuse a situation.

23 Daves, you never said whether this bloke had to pay in the end.

biggytitbo

If I ever find this 'man' who attacked you Thomas, I'll staple his eyeballs to a dartboard and then drop it into the mouth of an erupting volcano.

23 Daves

Quote from: Queneau on April 07, 2014, 09:02:32 AM

23 Daves, you never said whether this bloke had to pay in the end.

He wouldn't pay, and actually, after the shoving incident even if he'd had the money I wouldn't have let him in. My gut instinct was that he was trying to get through so he could heckle the performers and prove how much more interesting he was, which might not have been the case, but it was pretty obvious that letting him in wouldn't have led to anything positive happening.

Interesting fact about him I've only just remembered - his favourite Bowie song was apparently "This Is Not America". I have never heard anyone say that in my life before. Unless he was just trying to start an argument. It's probably a good line if you're trying to start fights with Bowie fans in pubs.

tookish

Quote from: Thomas on April 07, 2014, 08:50:19 AM
tookish help

In the interests of honesty, I should admit that the times people really did want, in absolute earnest, want to beat me up, they did sort of manage it. But if they're in two minds about it, I can usually persuade them that it's not a great idea, sometimes with reason, sometimes with a very quiet, menacing voice I picked up from my scary dad. And I walk with a stick now which may seem like a weakness until they realise it has a heavy wooden handle, BRING IT FUCKERS.

I'll look after you. You're my Catelyn Stark and I'm your Brienne of Tarth, except we're both handsome lads instead of beautiful ladies. Or maybe you're the boy-king Joffrey and I'm the hideous Hound, but I like the first one.

stunted

Quote from: 23 Daves on April 07, 2014, 12:36:20 AM
The conversation goes in this way for a couple of minutes, and I think there's a slight outside chance he might have something up his sleeve, and cheerfully start to try and give him the address of some open mic nights he can do and go on to get booked from. He's not expecting this. He's not expecting me to actually call his bluff and give him encouragement, then tell him where he can perform. So he walks off before I can finish, pissed off. 52 years and he's never set foot on a stage, and he's probably not going to start now. The roaring, appreciative audience will always be in his imagination.
I can't think of any examples but this sounds quite familiar,  when you start to credulously engage with these people and take a genuine interest you can see them almost panicking as they try to turn it into an argument or get one up on you.

The converse of all this, I was in quite an intimidating  looking pub that turned out to be full of the loveliest people. I think dingy looking regulars' pubs often have groups of 65+ year olds that are happy to have new people to talk to.

Queneau

Quote from: 23 Daves on April 07, 2014, 09:18:31 AM
He wouldn't pay, and actually, after the shoving incident even if he'd had the money I wouldn't have let him in. My gut instinct was that he was trying to get through so he could heckle the performers and prove how much more interesting he was, which might not have been the case, but it was pretty obvious that letting him in wouldn't have led to anything positive happening.

Ah, so he's gone back the other side.

Quote from: 23 Daves on April 07, 2014, 09:18:31 AM
Interesting fact about him I've only just remembered - his favourite Bowie song was apparently "This Is Not America". I have never heard anyone say that in my life before. Unless he was just trying to start an argument. It's probably a good line if you're trying to start fights with Bowie fans in pubs.

I'd just agree with him. "Yeah, it's fantastic that is. Everyone always says that."

phes

Judging the excitable, harmless man in the pub from the Geoff who gets out his gun after 6 pints, that's a bit of an art. Get back on the horse asap Thomas.

Ah Portsmouth. and Leeds, my two favourite where I have spent the last 30 years combined.

Viero_Berlotti

I know an old college lecturer I still see in the pub from time to time who is like this. He's great at the beginning of the night, an engaging conversationalist who's highly knowledgeable and holds very interesting opinions on art, music, culture, politics etc...

However 4 or 5 pints in and the aggressive arch-contrarian takes over and the conversation becomes an unpleasant war of attrition until (close to kicking out time) he storms out of the pub in a massive huff.

The next time you see him though, everything is fine like nothing ever happened. I still have a lot of time for him, but he can be very difficult to engage with once the booze takes effect.

23 Daves

Quote from: Viero_Berlotti on April 07, 2014, 10:13:17 AM
I know an old college lecturer I still see in the pub from time to time who is like this. He's great at the beginning of the night, an engaging conversationalist who's highly knowledgeable and holds very interesting opinions on art, music, culture, politics etc...

However 4 or 5 pints in and the aggressive arch-contrarian takes over and the conversation becomes an unpleasant war of attrition until (close to kicking out time) he storms out of the pub in a massive huff.

The next time you see him though, everything is fine like nothing ever happened. I still have a lot of time for him, but he can be very difficult to engage with once the booze takes effect.

Sounds exactly like an old university lecturer I had - he was notorious in pubs in the Portsmouth area for getting drunk and trying to argue with scaffolding workers about James Joyce. I remember a pissed off looking man approaching me and my friends in the pub once and saying: "You should stay away from that one, lads. He's wired to the MOON".
"Oh, he's a professor at our university, we know him".
"Fucking hell" (walks off into the night disbelievingly, puffing his cheeks out).

holyzombiejesus

Quote from: Funcrusher on April 07, 2014, 08:58:19 AM
If Mark E. Smith hadn't made a go of The Fall he would have been one of these.

He is one of these! Admittedly he'd probably be far worse (or dead) if he hadn't had The Fall but there are myriad stories of him acting the cunt in bars and venues in Manchester. I used to work in a record shop on Oldham Street and he'd even come in there, dancing and shouting and trying to get stuff for free. 

Viero_Berlotti

Quote from: holyzombiejesus on April 07, 2014, 11:02:00 AM
He is one of these! Admittedly he'd probably be far worse (or dead) if he hadn't had The Fall but there are myriad stories of him acting the cunt in bars and venues in Manchester. I used to work in a record shop on Oldham Street and he'd even come in there, dancing and shouting and trying to get stuff for free.

Yes, I've think I've told the stories on her a few times before, but I've witnessed Mark E Smith act the Grade A prick in pubs in Manchester on several occasions. His favourite when he's a punter at a gig is to elbow his way into the mixing desk and start drastically changing the levels whilst the band are playing on stage. Pretty funny really.

23 Daves

Quote from: holyzombiejesus on April 07, 2014, 11:02:00 AM
He is one of these! Admittedly he'd probably be far worse (or dead) if he hadn't had The Fall but there are myriad stories of him acting the cunt in bars and venues in Manchester. I used to work in a record shop on Oldham Street and he'd even come in there, dancing and shouting and trying to get stuff for free.

I long ago decided that I have no wish to meet Mark E Smith. I had an opportunity once when he was drinking in the bar at All Tomorrow's Parties, but didn't run with it. Apparently he was niceness itself, chatting happily to Fall fans some of whom were my friends, but if he took against me for any reason it would inevitably destroy my enjoyment of the band.

But Smith follows the same rule as these 'pub characters'. He seems to insist in every other interview that he's an "OK bloke, really". If you have to keep on reasserting that fact, you most certainly aren't. I've managed to get through the last forty years of my life without needing to use that phrase to reassure anyone.

Viero_Berlotti

Quote from: 23 Daves on April 07, 2014, 11:32:17 AM
Apparently he was niceness itself, chatting happily to Fall fans some of whom were my friends, but if he took against me for any reason it would inevitably destroy my enjoyment of the band.

Yes, I've seen both sides of him in public, the genuinely funny and affable character and the violent and aggressive ashtray smashing cunt. It depends on the amount he's drunk and what drugs he's been taking I think.

kngen

In Glasgow, in my 20s, I seemed to come across a spate of these types of men who, wierdly, all claimed they fought in Vietnam. It was a few years after the Platoon/Full Metal Jacket phase (where every idiot I knew started wearing chinos and listening to Motown) but I guess it had a lasting effect, even on men 20 years my senior. Anyway, they couldn't wait to share their experiences in 'Nam until (I just can't help myself) I pointed out Britain wasn't involved in the war. Some would make something up about having an American dad, some would claim to be mercenaries, and some would just slam their drink down and storm off in a cream puff.

I never really worked out the reasoning behind their absolute, bare-faced lying[nb]and pub liars are another fine sociological phenomenon, one that we've covered before, and very entertainingly[/nb], but I suppose, in the often hyper-macho atmosphere of Glasgow pubs, this was an attempt to ascend to a higher level of masculinity. Funnily enough, my father-in-law was a Marine in Vietnam. He doesn't half talk some shite (and no doubt bends the ears of many a poor bastard in his local) but he never, ever talks about his experiences in the war.

23 Daves

Quote from: kngen on April 07, 2014, 12:05:33 PM
In Glasgow, in my 20s, I seemed to come across a spate of these types of men who, wierdly, all claimed they fought in Vietnam. It was a few years after the Platoon/Full Metal Jacket phase (where every idiot I knew started wearing chinos and listening to Motown) but I guess it had a lasting effect, even on men 20 years my senior. Anyway, they couldn't wait to share their experiences in 'Nam until (I just can't help myself) I pointed out Britain wasn't involved in the war. Some would make something up about having an American dad, some would claim to be mercenaries, and some would just slam their drink down and storm off in a cream puff.

I never really worked out the reasoning behind their absolute, bare-faced lying[nb]and pub liars are another fine sociological phenomenon, one that we've covered before, and very entertainingly[/nb], but I suppose, in the often hyper-macho atmosphere of Glasgow pubs, this was an attempt to ascend to a higher level of masculinity. Funnily enough, my father-in-law was a Marine in Vietnam. He doesn't half talk some shite (and no doubt bends the ears of many a poor bastard in his local) but he never, ever talks about his experiences in the war.

On the "pub liars" thread, I think we talked about this and the SAS phenomenon, didn't we? Which is that these men will often claim to have been involved in special SAS missions.
"I've seen some things. I've seen some weapons you don't even know have been invented, let me tell you".

I've got a friend in Portsmouth who attracts these men like nobody's business, because he's quite rugged looking and carries himself like someone who might give a shit about someone else's imaginary war wounds (he couldn't care less, in fact, but that's another story).  I usually just get the "eccentrics". These men do seem to home in on slightly similar people to themselves to be a pain in the arse, for some reason. Almost as if they would quite like to have friends, but haven't quite worked their way past how to not be a cunt yet.

stunted

Quote from: kngen on April 07, 2014, 12:05:33 PM
In Glasgow, in my 20s, I seemed to come across a spate of these types of men who, wierdly, all claimed they fought in Vietnam. It was a few years after the Platoon/Full Metal Jacket phase (where every idiot I knew started wearing chinos and listening to Motown) but I guess it had a lasting effect, even on men 20 years my senior. Anyway, they couldn't wait to share their experiences in 'Nam until (I just can't help myself) I pointed out Britain wasn't involved in the war. Some would make something up about having an American dad, some would claim to be mercenaries, and some would just slam their drink down and storm off in a cream puff.

I never really worked out the reasoning behind their absolute, bare-faced lying[nb]and pub liars are another fine sociological phenomenon, one that we've covered before, and very entertainingly[/nb], but I suppose, in the often hyper-macho atmosphere of Glasgow pubs, this was an attempt to ascend to a higher level of masculinity. Funnily enough, my father-in-law was a Marine in Vietnam. He doesn't half talk some shite (and no doubt bends the ears of many a poor bastard in his local) but he never, ever talks about his experiences in the war.

I have a friend who works in a bar in Glasgow and she says not long after The Wee Man film came out a number people (usually as they were being thrown out) started claiming to know Paul Ferris.

kngen

Quote from: 23 Daves on April 07, 2014, 12:15:40 PM
These men do seem to home in on slightly similar people to themselves to be a pain in the arse, for some reason. Almost as if they would quite like to have friends, but haven't quite worked their way past how to not be a cunt yet.


Whenever my old band would go over to the continent, it was guaranteed that most nights me and the bass player would attract two distinctive types: he'd get lumbered with some exotic looking but slightly 'off' woman who he'd spend the rest of the night trying to shake off as it would become obvious after about ten minute's conversation that, while the sex that was clearly on offer would probably be wild and mind-blowing, it would come with a heavy, heavy price, which we imagined would range from a harrowing post-coital conversation about years of abuse which would ruin sex forever to simply receiving some kind of long-term physical injury, mostly on his cock.

Me, I'd end up with cornered by some scary-eyed slavic type who thought nothing of wearing a leather bandana, say, or a sexually graphic Trevor Brown/Whitehouse/bondage pic T-shirt, who wanted to talk intensely with me about unreleased Concrete Sox demos or something equally banal. Oh, the amount of times I would try and tune out the Germanic droning about early Electro Hippies tracks, and glance over at my friend, looking utterly terrified as some dominatrix was attempting to eat his entire earlobe, and think: 'Ah fuck. I'll trade places with you. I'll take my chances ...'