How can this happen on the tube?? This is a narrow, self contained, very public area with cameras and lots of people. And yet creeps all over London see this place as some kind of pervert savannah, an open 'seeding' ground for their disgusting sexual pecadillos. The article got even more disturbing. People see some incidences as fairly minor. “But people who commit such crimes may go on to do something more serious. It's a gateway crime to a higher level. Leering may become groping, which might become public masturbation or assault”. What the FUCK. Leering is a gateway drug??? I nearly spat my grape out. (Apple and grape snack pack, it's a good time) Leering is a form of sex attack? Now I'm worried. What's leering? What is the technical definition? I know I've definitely checked women out. Yes, occasionally, I look at women's bottoms. I try not to. I don't look up women's skirts or down their bras. But if a woman has nice buns, I can't help but look. But is that leering? Suddenly I feel like a first class deviant. I'M ON THE GATEWAY DRUG. If I'm not careful I will start spiralling out of control. One minute leering at a woman's bottoms, the next, swinging from the hand rails like a monkey, wanking furiously and flinging jizz on innocent bystanders. I need to get off this shit, and quick.
I check on the definition of leering. “Verb (intransitive) to give an oblique, sneering, or suggestive look or grin”
OK, thank fuck for that. Relief! I don't do THAT. I don’t go round sneering and cackling at women. I'm not Sid James. Or Miggs from Silence of the Lambs. (Remember Miggs, in the cell next to Lecter's - Hannibal whispered in his cell all night and traumatised him so much he swallowed his own tongue. People who speak to me on the phone after a bad gig often befall the same tragic fate.) I'm not them. It's natural to check out attractive women. Natural: Check out attractive women. Unnatural: Sneering at them and rubbing your loins like Miggs. (I wonder what Carry on Silence of the Lambs would have been like. Imagine, Jodie Foster/Barbara Windsor walks tentatively down the dark cell corridor, past a terrifying smorgasboard of deranged pervert murderers in cells: Cell one - A giggling Charles Hawtrey. Two - Bernard Bresslaw, vacant, dead eyed and dribbling, breath of a dead rodent. Cell Three - Sid James/Miggs, “I can smell your cunt!! Hahahahahaha!!” And then, finally, comes the foreboding spider glass cell at the end: Kenneth Williams. The grand beast himself. Actually this sounds like how things actually ended - after the Carry On Films dried up, they all became mental with grief and were put in a home for the clinically insane. They let Jim Dale out for that reboot in the 90s as part of his recovery program. It was so shit he went mental again.)
So what does this have to do with the gig? Fuck all. It's just that the article disconcerted me, and made me overly keen to prove to myself I'm NOT a leering pervert. But the thing is, when you become overly conscious about not behaving a certain way, suddenly your brain starts making you do it. I started imagining things. Like, actually hallucinating. Suddenly women on the tube everywhere had tits like Jayne Mansfield. I’m not lying. EVERY girl I saw after that had gigantic mammaries. They’re bouncing out at me like flesh coloured zeppelins. Boing! Boing! Boing! Boing! I was going insane. I needed to get the fuck out of there. Kennington couldn’t have come fast enough. (‘Couldn’t have come fast enough’. An unfortunate turn of phrase at this particular juncture)
So I arrive at Kennington and dump the paper in the bin. It's time to concentrate. I've had an awful week of gigs, and I need a decent one tonight. Alas, the gig had a big audience of up for it punters, and I managed to get through it OK. Without wanking or jizzing on anyone. I think.
Gig No.32 done. Promoter and birthday girl So Ying Pang
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