Category Archives: otherly photos

A substandard day at work can be put on the back burner buy going to watch the Bangkok Ladyboys.

I know because I did it last week.

I think the thing I like most about them is the fact that they don’t even try to accurately lip sync. For all we know, they could be reciting a particularly droll presidential speech with raised eyebrows and a perfectly stretched and primed smile. You’re hearing Katie Perry, they’re singing their grandma’s favourite recipe. It doen’t matter though because we’re all there for the sequins and wigs.

At some point a gnome stripped to his teeny-tinys which, while a favourite of the greater majority of any crowd, didn’t really please me. “Oh my god, a dwarf!” Who cares when there are sexual oddities afoot in jewelled leotards cut to their navels? Not me. How could I be when a safety-goggled blonde boygirl atop the pink shell of a gutted car took an angle grinder to the metal disc she wore over her crotch? There were real sparks and everything. *applause*

The highlight of my night however, was afterwards when Laura expertly dealt with a sort of rambling neon-clad (homeless?) man who kept trying to offer us “pizza and chips for a pound”

My ineffective tactic has remained the same for years: smile (hold the friendliness) and say “no thank you” and look…over there.

Laura on the other hand, gives the man all of her attention. Not wanting to be rude or to sound insincere she says “Oh, thank you SO much, but I’ve just been for (some word here, eatsies?) and I’ve literally popped my belt. Like. Nine times. What’s that though? Pizza AND chips for a pound? My GOODness. Next time, definitely” and she means it…maybe.

She’s smiling and nodding with her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline because she is honestly thankful that this man has offered her food for a decent price and appreciates what a truly horrendous job he has.

He leaves and we find a seat outside a bar. I get to thinking how Laura is just like a puppy: she’s all soft and will hug and cuddle you constantly, chatting all the while with the biggest eyes and an only-a-little-bit-dirty chuckle. Sometimes you may even walk away with a shiny spot on your cheek (from lip glossy kisses, not tongue licks) and at no point do you ever feel like you’ve had enough of her.

I take the wine out of my bag (because we were chivvied out of the venue with our undrunk drinks) and our boys, along with the very same menu-toting befuddled man come to join us.

“Oh, hun” Laura sings “You’ve already asked us, but remember? I’m SO full” She wasn’t joking about her belt, which had popped undone although I’d sooner blame the catch than the tiny tummy “Is that the menu? can I see one?” she points to his fistful of folded print outs. She’s not at all interested in eating, but she’s interested in his food related venture. It is the menu, he lets her have one “Fab” she says “Let’s have a look here, OH the Happy Chippy?” She giggles with mirth (this is THE BEST name for a food place) and he corrects her, “Sorry, the Happy Chip” her manicured fingers give a clipped sweep to emphasise the single syllable “chip” and to demonstrate that she understands. the importance of getting the name correct.

“OhmaGOD a kebab for 99p? Are you Jay-Oh-king me?!” He’s not. “But. Ah” she leans back, eyebrows lowering for a second “Is that good meat though? See, for 99p…” She trails off “Maybe it’s like, TOO good a deal? “her head is cocked and she’s nodding her point “I think I’d rather pay just a LITtle bit more for GOOD food, do you want a cigarette, hun?” he does and she clambers out of our bench-seat to stand up and have a smoke with him. He also gets a hug, a promise that she’ll remember the Happy Chip and a big thank you for the offer of such outstanding service.

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