WE WATCH THEM SPREAD THEIR PEARLY GATES

Pushed down a few drinks at Halfway to Heaven* first. You want to pace yourself. Soak in some of the buzz beforehand. Can't rush what promises to be a big long night. Can't get too sloppy or they'll pounce. None wants the disco to shut down again. 

The pub is camp in all the wrong places, AI wallpaper and too much Wham on the playlist. A gaybar overcompensating for the fact that it's riddled with the business casual boys and dirty old bastards. Hardly heavenly, hardly the scene for those soon to be scantily clad. It closes in five and we're off. 

First Off

The line is long and littered with kids looking cold. Everyone's drinking and everyone looks thirsty, pushing pre’s as far as they possibly can before the door. Bloke in front of us is drinking black coffee on the bouncers orders. He was turned away for being too pissed but he says he needs to be in heaven tonight, steadies himself on his mate and keeps trying to slap himself sober.

It's hot when we get inside, sweaty. The walls are damp and everyone has a wet upper lip. The room is excited. They won't stop playing Zara Larson and we’re crushed in the action, surrounded by dogs in heat. Snoggers in every direction. An Australian won't stop feeling me up and asking if I'll perform, he's a gangly blonde full of elbows and angles who I've supposedly already met. Apparently his mate performed a few weeks ago and brought the house down by giving them some geezer. A beautiful flaming hooligan stripping for the ex Ru Paulers. He says the lad threw his stone island badge into the crowd, giving them the Liam Gallagher waddle with his todger out, says they went wild for it. It's a hard story to believe when the night finally happens, but by then the mind has wondered and honesty seems strikingly dull. 

The place is throbbing now. You feel the computer screen's seductions replaced by the communal thrill of watching someone get their bits out. Watching them shake it up and down a bit. People roar for their chosen angel, bearing their gums and pumping blood hard.  We watch them spread their pearly gates, we gape at the holes, we fling our arms about and jeer. You could count cavities for miles, every jaw’s locked ajar. All eyes on the stage. Abject fascination and awe for a view you can sink your teeth into. Too many christians have beaten down the dance floors. Baby get your rat out. 

*Pub a few streets away from heaven, unaffiliated but basking in its light.

Chokee gets some