I had a rather unusual experience whilst walking through Whitechapel the other day. I was just passing the entrance to celebrity urchin hangout The Rhythm Factory when I noticed that there was a private party taking place in the venue’s beer soaked bowels. A large colourful sign in the window pronounced the evening to be ‘Doherty’s Flights of Fancy Dress’.
I was walking by, thinking that it all sounded rather ridiculous, when I saw a strange vision. Running down the street was a man, who was totally naked except for a flesh coloured jock strap. On his back was perched a woman in a brown leotard. The man was out of breath and seemed to be struggling under the weight of his passenger.
The near-naked man stopped me, asking the time. I told him. I could not resist the urge to enquire what the reason could be for his strange attire.
“I am going to a fancy dress party,” he said, gasping for air.
“What as?” I asked.
“A turtle,” he said.
“OK. But who is that on your back?”
“That’s Michelle.”
He jogged off towards his party in the Factory and I continued home. “I need a drink,” I thought.
4 Comments
Hee hee.
Most times when I encounter some strange person in the village I live in, I am sorely tempted to also have a drink. Can’t allow myself to though - I’d be drunk at 6am everyday if I did.
I have encountered some of your bizarre locals. I found it better to be drunk even before one meets them, hence breakfast beer.
Hee hee. When Miss E was 2 and a half, we were going to see my friend Michelle, and Miss E looked very confused and then announced, “But Mummy, we are not a tortoise.” I was so proud.
Children, so innocent but secretly comic geniuses