Saturday night and Sunday morning

There was a woman in the pub toilet with a moustache. It was a huge black hairy one and behind it she was apparently Australian and called Audrey. At the same pub bar were women with legwarmers and spandex and a lot of men in long curly black wigs. They were supposed to resemble something from the glam rock scene but incongruously looked more like they were a debauched entity of the court of King Charles 1.
It was a ‘rock’ party and I too was bowed beneath the weight of a vast wig and heavy make up which seemed strangely to make me irresistible to men. This is a tad depressing as I thought I looked a little like a drag queen I once knew called Bonita. One bloke in particular I couldn’t shift. With limited vision the rules of flirting are rather skewed in the favour of the person who can see who (or what) they are winking and leering at. In low light I can see one part of one person at a time so if someone sits in front of me, chatting but then won’t leave or mingle I am pretty stuck. I can’t signal desperately with my eyes at others standing behind us and I can’t scan the room to see who else is around and potentially up for a …well a dance and a laugh. As usual this chap got quite heavy after the 3 rd or 4th drink. The music was loud and I couldn’t hear him anyway and therefore had to lean in to watch his mouth in the hope of gleaning something though lip reading….leaning in close to a man and looking at his mouth tends to send out the wrong signals so he thought he was on to a good thing and I was trapped and soon quite bored. I was there for a good time..not to bond for life with a bloke who was dressed as someone from Duran Duran. Friends would distract him and whisk me off to the bar or dance floor but after 10 minutes or so he would appear like a drunken wraith waving wildly and hopefully at me in his new disabled aware fashion.
Everyone had a good time though and they had to kick us out at 2am, wigs askance and make up slurred.
The sweetest thing today was getting on to the tube, me with cane and reflective belt, my beautiful friend, Sloe-eyed S, 6 months pregnant and showing and her husband the Botanist D. We had agreed that Botanist D would sit, glowering, in the disabled seat and refuse to move and Sloe-eyed S and I would stand over him looking wretched, heavy with child and weary with disability and see what the other passengers would do. As it was we were giggling so much it was obviously a set up and after a shocked minute most of the other people in the carriage fell into stifled laughter too. It was a Sunday morning London moment!