30 September 2000
Swinging London: Or, Shag Or Die
High Street, midnight. I
am standing at a bus stop outside the Rainbow Sports Bar.
The sign is neon and the windows are frosted glass. There are
boucers clustered outside. One has a pony tail. The other is a
woman with a face like nails. Her mouth seems to be permanently
pulled into the shape your mouth makes when you say 'you FAAKKING
nudges me, motions towards a bouncer. He's six foot something
and fucking huge, and blonde, like an old overweight labrador.
'Your boyfriend's looking at you' Catherine says. I look back
at him. 'You would, though, wouldn't you?' I say to her. 'You
couldn't help yourself. You just would'. We think we're funny
through our lager haze.
door to the Sports Bar swings open. A girl is wiggling onstage,
holding onto a silver pole. The shapes of men inside gaze up at
the tiny black strip of her g-string. We stare at all the men
going inside. Shaven heads and check shirts. A man staggers out
and, facing the wall, right next to the bouncers and the door,
starts to piss. It runs down past his feet towards the bus stop
and we all take a step nearer the kerb.
'So, which one?' Catherine says. I just can't decide.
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