Gaybos

It’s difficult to describe the joy I feel when I see hummingbirds. It’s a rare treat. I’ve seen them in New Jersey and in San Francisco and today they’ve been darting and tarting about in Matt’s garden. There’s something magical about the way they seem to hover in mid air. It’s like an optical illusion.

I’m deaf in one ear today. It happens every time I swim for long periods of time on a holiday. The water must get into the ear, dislodge a load of wax and then it all goes horribly wrong! I think you can probably get special ear plugs specifically to stop this sort of thing from happening, but I would never remember to bring a pair at times when they were most needed.

One of the most troubling things about being in the States is the need to take identification with me when I go out to bars and things. Because I don’t have an identity card and haven’t bought my driving license, I always have to take my passport out with me, which ends up looking very tatty on account of it being stuffed into various pockets which invariably get sat on. Part of me always wants to point at my white beard and ask the doormen in these bars to guess whether or not they think I’m over 21. At a certain point it becomes quite a nonsense!

We went to Mel’s Drive-in, which is a sort of burger-joint-cum-milkshake-bar reminiscent of Grease. It’s all rather 1960s space age with a big slanting roof and brilliant flashing neon signage. There were juke boxes on every table. Put 25c in, and you can dictate what the rest of the room hears. I was more than thrilled when ABBA’s The Name of the Game started playing.

We strolled down to the gay district of LA which is in West Hollywood on Santa Monica Boulevard, passing the Viper Rooms, where River Phoenix very sadly died. I’m told it all happened publicly on a sidewalk, which feels particularly tragic.

We took a little stroll around the gay block. All the bars in this area are particularly colourful. It was LA Pride last week, so the gaudy rainbow decorations are still hanging proudly from the street lights and palm trees.

The gaybos in this part of town are remarkably primped and preened. The older ones often have fake-tanned, over-moisturised faces with the strange feline eyes and thin, long mouths associated with facial surgery and fillers. The young men are either twinks, more often than not sashaying with their elbows surgically attached to their rib cages, or they’re attempting to create the illusion of masculinity, with carefully plucked facial hair and crisply-ironed plaid shirts.

Most of the bars were heaving and filled with male gogo dancers giving lap dances for dollar notes. We opted for the quietest looking bar, The Felix, and sat outside watching the world going by.

We were joined by two somewhat drunk youngsters, who engaged us in confusing conversion about The Israelites - whoever they are. I think it’s a Christian thing. I got the impression that one of them was trying to suggest that the “ish” bit of Jewish meant that Jewish people weren’t actually true Jews. She kept pointing at the table top and saying “that’s purple-ish - it’s not properly purple.” 

It wasn’t long before we were running for the hills!