And that’s own-brand, not Heinz   Leave a comment

Lead us not in to temptation.

Wednesday… I could mention that my finger was still bleeding occasionally from Monday’s mishap. I could mention that the most notable thing I did was play Freespace. But I think that’s pretty much covered that.

The last episode of Rum Doings (which I didn’t listen to on Wednesday, but for some reason it popped into my head) reminded me of a friend’s stag do last year.

On the Saturday it was a monopoly board pub crawl, and then on the Sunday, post fry-up, we went to The Church (which only lives up to the name if you think Father Jack is representative). One of the acts was a female stripper.

It was fascinating. About as erotic as a can of beans, but I’m not even sure it was supposed to be. In the first half of her act she went through her routine and stripped down to her pants. It was so distant and impersonal it could have been a robot doing the moves – or somebody stripping for a medical exam in the least efficient way possible. She was so clearly just going through the motions that you wouldn’t be surprised if she were thinking about what she needed to get from Tesco on the way home.

Before the show, it wouldn’t have occurred that an attractive woman provocatively taking off her clothes could elicit only curiosity. And I couldn’t figure out, if it wasn’t supposed to be erotic, what it was supposed to be.

The second half involved a victim from the audience for a bit of humiliation and faux-domination, although in this case it was clear that the Dom really was in charge. Considering at one point the stripper was sitting on her victim’s lap, the distance he kept from her was impressive; clearly Mister Sunshine backstage gets upset if the punters get too hands on with the nice young lady, and if Mister Sunshine gets upset he might just have to come over and have a little chat with the punter, just to explain his feelings. The punter looked like he’d never been so hands-off with an almost-nude woman sitting on him in his entire life.

Eventually his part was over and he left the stage (just stopping – with his hands still well out of the way – to give the stripper a peck on the cheek) and it was time for The Grande Finale. Or “the stripper removing her knickers”. She went through a few more motions, and the show was over.

And then, when she picked up her carelessly strewn clothing and shuffled off the stage in her impractical footwear, she was no longer distant, pseudo-robotic and in charge, but suddenly seemed vulnerable and alone.

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Posted 24 June 2011 by Colthor in Diary

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