Young Richy coaxed me to go out last night with a few of the lads and one of Erika’s flat mates Kat. We went just around the corner from where Eir/Richy is staying, The Hoxton Bar. Richy used to work behind the bar and thus half price drinks all night. It happened to be Gay Night at the Hoxron Bar and the next thing I know I’m standing 2 feet from Boy George (who was fat, dressed in Black and had a black top hat. With sequins). He was going to DJ, but not before ’10 minutes with my dad’ did a short number.
‘10 minutes with my dad’ are a pair of young skimpy chicks with massive blond wigs on, teased to the point that they defy gravity and wearing bikinis and leather jackets and Zoro type eye band masks. The ‘act’ consists of them tearing/wrestling with each other while screaming lyrics, in early Beasty Boys style, about their apparent nymphomania and sexual preference for there fathers. They ended up on the ground in the middle of the crowd with most of the little they had on hanging from them. But I’ve seen them before. YAWN.
Boy George on the other hand was a freak. I saw him when he came out to Australia in the 80’s and I was dumb struck to be close to fame like that. OK he’s looking sad and pathetic but I was fascinated by the spectacle of fame, the idea of it, as I’ve never had much occasion to ogle at it. His DJing wasn’t too bad (I wouldn’t travel for it but it grindy house seem to fit the mood, which was some male stripper flashing it Jon Doe around a bit on the podium) but no he didn’t play any of the old classics so if I was till a fan I’d be disappointed.
Just an average Sunday in Hoxton