It’s Monday night and I’m sitting at a small table sipping an over-priced beer while someone in a bizarre costume performs a ‘solo duet’ in a lip-synched frenzy that borders on the maniacal.
Next to me sits a transsexual with gigantic breasts and makeup that would make The Joker re-think his definition of scary. She’s wriggling around on the chair in what I assume is supposed to be a sultry ‘come hither’ kind of way. I wonder if perhaps there’s an issue with certain parts of her anatomy that must surely be tucked away in places I really don’t want to think about. I try not to look in her direction, but she catches my glance and gyrates a little more, winking at me with eyelashes so enormous I swear I felt a breeze.
It’s possible I might have had stranger Monday nights, but while I sit there ignoring the writhing transsexual barfly, and instead fix my eyes upon a bulky man on stage dressed as Tina Turner, a similarly bizarre Monday night doesn’t spring to mind.
“You’re simply the best. Better than all the rest.”
Why is it this song seems to be reserved for only the most awkward and uncomfortable moments. As ‘Tina’ staggers around pointing at the few people sat among empty seats on the front row, I’m reminded of many a ‘scouse‘ wedding reception I’ve had to endure in the low-budget halls of Liverpool suburbs.
Ms Turner couldn’t have known her song would become the battle cry for late night lard-arses everywhere. Perhaps to them, this is symphonic mastery at it’s very best, a perfect opportunity to wobble their burger bums with a pride usually reserved for gay rights parades.
I finish my beer and head for the exit. My wriggling admirer follows in hot pursuit and insists on having her friend take a photograph of us. She drapes herself around me and lifts a leg across mine, her mouth open, and one of her ample eyelashed eyes closed in an exagerated wink.
I smile for her picture and wonder just how long it will be until this image is released into the social network. I’ll never run for an elected office so no explanation will be required, and if I ever do I’m quite sure this picture would be the least of my problems.
I say goodnight and leave with the music fading behind me.
“First I was afraid I was petrified, kept thinkin’ I could never live without you by my side…”
Goodnight Cabaret, farewell Chiang Mai.