When I was first told that a colleague of mine had been to see a psychic pussy, I wasn't sure how to react. "No really, it's fascinating," they said. "It knew all about his varicose veins and bad back."
I'm not one for eating while walking, as a rule. Aside from the practical choreography of getting everything where it should be, in your mouth and not down the front of your coat,
Technology is a wonderful thing. It has changed almost every aspect of our lives in so many ways, making us wonder how we ever survived without it. Of course we did survive, though things were often a little more complicated.
I stood at the bus stop in Lewisham High Street trying to decide whether or not to just go home. I hadn't come by bus as I only lived walking distance away, but had arranged to meet Cynthia nearly an hour beforehand.
When I was young, we mostly used to wash in the kitchen sink. Though my mother would regularly take me to the Bath House in Bermondsey for a once-all-over. I can still hear the often raucous voices of the working-class cubicle occupiers echoing up the municipal corridors
The first problem I had was my shoes. The precinct concourse was particularly slippery in the new stilettos I had bought to match the canary-yellow, feathered costume du jour.
Ginger was a person, not a cat. And I'm not really sure why his name was Ginger, it certainly didn't relate to his appearance. But rather delightfully, having recently lost five stone of his once considerable bulk, he now had a wonderful zest for living life to the full, which was lovely other than for the fact that everyone else had to get involved.
The A40 in London was jammed solid, as usual. It was a long way to travel from home and took a big chunk of my day, but the best place to buy wigs for my cabaret show had always been directly from the wholesalers.
When we moved to Kent, we bought a seventeenth century house known as Wishing Well Cottage. Legend had it that it sat on the footprint of an earlier brick house and that the well used to be the water supply for the village
There was a stain on one of my patio slabs that looked like Bernard Cribbins. Or perhaps it was just a non-descript blob reminding me to read my script.
When I sat on the long, brightly coloured bench against the side window, the room tipped to one side and my plastic cup slid off the table. As it crashed to the floor, coffee splashed everywhere and began a long trail down the tatty wood-effect Lino towards the bedroom.
“I can’t wait, I’m on a double yellow line. Here, cop hold of this for a minute.” I span in my dressing-room chair to glance over my shoulder.
Whenever the phone would ring at five am, it could only ever be one person… Dame Judi Dench. ‘I have eleven BAFTA’s, seven Larry’s, a Tony and an Oscar,’ she screamed at me down the receiver. ‘And I have a Golden Globe in each hand as we speak…”
“DRAG QUEEN” screamed the sign, written in blood-red lipstick across three wrinkled sheets of kitchen roll
There was a boy at my school who ate cat food. I guess at the time it made him feel a bit more important than he really was. Simon was his name, and like me, he was an outsider. We used to spend much of our time together during breaks sitting on the school field, where he would enthral me with his blueprint of how he would take over the world.
As I pulled into the car park, I could see him leaning precariously out of the fourth floor window. He was waving something tied to the end of a long stick outside the window of next door’s flat.
‘I’m so pleased you could make it! I’m always watching you on there,’ sighed Melinda, referring to my recent bit of telly. She adjusted her silk head-scarf, looking down at her shiny plastic Wellington boots dejectedly.
Apparently, the Eskimo have fifty words for “snow.” Over the years a few words of my own have evolved, though they’re perhaps not repeatable in polite society.
‘This is your dressing room,’ said the rather dishevelled porter nervously, opening a door to the left. The empty room was as large as a tennis court. ‘It’s one of the function halls,’ he said apologetically. ‘We’ve set everything up for you, as requested.’ With a squint,
Philip sounded unsure. ‘To be honest, it’s a bit of an odd one.’ ‘Odd? How do you mean?’ I asked. I’d known my Agent for some years, and it was unusual for him to be unsure of anything.
‘Nobody said anything to me about armpits! Why don’t they warn you about these things before you leave home?’
My first encounter with my neighbour Carmine occurred on the stairway at our block of flats. The relationship didn’t get off to a good start.
I was met at the gate by a tall, thin security guard with a patch over one eye. ‘So who are you?’ he asked, quite understandably. I wondered if a man whose job it was to watch would only get half pay if he could only use one eye.
‘Isn’t there any air conditioning on this train?’ I asked the ticket inspector. ‘Sorry sir, there is but it doesn’t appear to be working. You’ll have to make do with all the open air-vents,’ he replied, further loosening his tie. No discount on my fare, then? To try to distract from the stifling heat, I decided to listen to some music on my i-Phone.
‘I’ve made up my mind and that’s all there is to it,’ said Zoe, taking a bite from her Victoria Sponge before lighting another cigarette
It was third time lucky for the taxi. We’d been along The Embankment on the River Thames twice already, but locating a specific boat with no address or postcode was far more than even a cab driver’s Satellite Navigation could cope with.
I didn’t nick it, it must have just fell in me handbag!’ screamed Coleen taking a swing at the austere looking store detective.
I don’t know why I let people talk me into these things. Apparently it was a life and death situation, though I did find that hard to believe
By the time I’d queued to get my train ticket, I really needed to wee. Luckily I knew there was a toilet on my platform. Aside from a little fat boy scoffing a family sized bag of crisps I was the only one there
Living in the Garden of England as we do, we tend to get a lot of insects visiting the house during the summer. It can upon occasion be a bit of a challenge keeping on top of them. There’s never a convenient time to relocate a moth, assuming you can catch him in the first place.
It’s long been a dream of mine to learn to tap dance. I think it’s because I admire it so much in people that have mastered the craft.
‘It’s an awfully big adventure,’ said my partner Charlie with a tone of dread in his voice. He wasn’t wrong. Usually a Ladies Night performance would be myself as drag host
It really was too good an opportunity to miss. I’d been working so hard and a well-earned break would do me good. And it was all paid for by someone else!
I was ready to punch someone. No particular individual, just anyone. I’d had the morning from hell and was fed up with the life I lead. I stormed into Pret A Manger like a menstruating tornado
Adventures of a Dreg Queen - by Jeff Kristian "Sunset Escape" It was the phone call I’d been dreading. “I’ll be there at ten am.” “I’m sorry I can’t I’ll be busy” I bluffed. “But I’m only in town for one day before I go back to Manchester. Can’t you get out of whatever it is you’re doing?” The truth is I had absolutely nothing planned at all.
The other night, Charlie and I settled down in front of our telly with a cup of cocoa and a finger to watch a new documentary about the impending Royal Wedding of the gorgeous Kate Middleton to Prince William
Charlie’s building a shed. In a far flung corner of our garden in Kent there’s a gap and I’m told that gap needs to be filled. It’s a man thing
I like to bath in rose petals. It’s not a romantic thing particularly and now and again it can be a nuisance. On more than one occasion it’s taken ten minutes to get the loose fragments out of all my crevices with a towel.
I’d spent four days researching every Irene Handl film I could find. It’s not often I’m offered a film role and though this was only a small part, it was still important to get it right.
It’s every woman’s prerogative to be mysterious. Wherever and whenever I perform in my drag show, I attempt to become the essence of mystique and drama. It’s not always easy in six inch heels, but I make the effort and I try.
ADVENTURES OF A DRAG QUEEN – by Jeff Kristian “Mary Quantum” “It really put the willies up me, I can tell you!” said fat Martin. Let me first of all just say that it wasn’t me who called fat Martin fat. It may also be appropriate to mention that he wasn’t actually fat. He got the nickname because he used to be gargantuan,
“Look at him staring at you” taunted my next door neighbour Rita. “He’s got hollow eyes, like a stalker.” “Don’t be ridiculous!” I replied. “Yes, but don’t it bother you that he’s sitting there listening to every word you say?”
You’ll have to excuse me I’m a bit bunged up. Yes, I’m afraid to say it’s the dreaded flu. But not just any old flu, oh no. It’s not even Man Flu… it’s much worse than that. It’s Drag Queen Flu. Though in fairness it is similar to Man Flu only with a lot more drama. As my partner Charlie put it, when I’ve got flu I deserve an Oscar and a standing ovation. “Atchoo… thankyou, thankyou
You’ll have to excuse me I’m a bit bunged up. Yes, I’m afraid to say it’s the dreaded flu. But not just any old flu, oh no. It’s not even Man Flu… it’s much worse than that. It’s Drag Queen Flu. Though in fairness it is similar to Man Flu only with a lot more drama.
As a rule, I like to get Easter out of the way before I start getting ready for Christmas. I am of course being ironic. It seems that preparations for the festive season are beginning earlier and earlier year by year.
Why does life have to be so complicated?! What a week I’d had. Everything was stressful and nothing straight forward. And to top it all, I’d had a call to say that my Aunt was in Hospital, though nothing too scary thankfully. I’d been told she was at King’s College Hospital in London
Where the bugger are we?” Karen asked despairingly. We’d been driving in the pitch black since leaving the motorway half hour before and hadn’t seen a solitary street sign. That afternoon, I’d been given directions for this show over the phone.
The only reason I’d agreed to do it was to see for myself just how big that arse really was. Meet n’ greet had never really been my thing, although a clever idea… a group of fabulously sparkling professional extroverts to welcome you at the entrance of a club, making it look as though your time inside would be just that bit more special than reality
I’m not one for parties really. I’d usually just rather sit in front of the telly with a mug of Bovril and file me toenails. But Romie’s famous annual do was on the way home from my performance as Cliff Richard in Colchester. And as usual it was fancy dress, so I could just keep my costume on and come as the young one himself.
I can remember some years ago running out into the front garden like every other neighbour down our street, to see why there was a police car and ambulance outside old Mrs Dunwoody’s house at number fourteen
I had finally collected the keys on my new third floor flat in Greenwich, close to many of my residential drag shows at the time. I was ready to begin unpacking, but the kitchen was a disgrace. A small room overlooking a Courtyard at the back, the wall cupboards were OK but there was a rank smell coming from somewhere under the sink.
It was one of those drag performances where everything seemed to go bloody wrong. The microphone was picking up intermittent signals from the local taxi firm, the crowd were being very arsy and to top it all I had a throat like a busy Hooker.
We were having trouble trying to decide the age of a dear, yet rather plastically-altered friend of ours. For the purpose of this column, we’ll call her Florrie. Of course in an anti-Ageist world, one shouldn’t openly discuss these things. But she’s such an old cow that we couldn’t resist.
Drag Queens Jeff Kristian & Tiffaney Wells discuss “That There Coalition Thingy”
“She’s about the same size as me” I said nervously. The shop assistant squinted suspiciously. It wasn’t easy to find what I needed when I first began drag as a profession.
“They’re here!!!” screamed Selwyn down the phone at me. I didn’t need to ask who. Changing the phone to the ear I could still hear out of, I asked “Why?” “They’re doing a TV show to promote the ABBA – The First Ten Years album and I’m going to meet them!”
When it comes to medical things, I’m not particularly squeamish. I don’t have any kind of morbid fascination, but many a time I’ve sat in front of the telly with a bag of Opal Fruits and watched someone being probed with a spatula while having some piece of their anatomy or other fiddled with.
We love our little Soho pub Molly Moggs. But as with many things in life, sometimes you’ve just got to get away for a few hours.
I diligently weighed up the odds with a cabbage in one hand and a cauliflower in the other. I just couldn’t for the life of me remember which of the two my dinner guest had said she couldn’t eat.
Someone asked me the other day what my New Year’s Resolution would be. Apparently, they’ve decided they’re going to give up smoking. Having already told me they’re going to spend Christmas at home with their family. What a load of old bollocks!
At school my Careers Advisor asked what I wanted to do for a living, and I told her, “I want to be a Lollipop Man”.
Many moons ago I used to Tarot read at Psychic and Mystic Fayres. With my long wavy hair, kaftan and crystal ball I used to do quite well on my glitzy little table in the corner of the hall.
As you probably realise by now from reading my column, I’m never one to gossip. But there is one discreet little titbit this week that I just can’t keep to myself. I’m pregnant.
I can’t be doing with all this Halloween bollocks. Pumpkins with bits hacked out to make a ghoulish face. Fake cobwebs clogging up me air conditioning.
I was driving through Billericay back to London from a cabaret performance recently when my eyes befell a scary sight. It was about 2am and although late at night, the road was fairly well lit.
“Looking pasty, Kristian” I shrugged at myself in the mirror. It seems the older I get, the higher maintenance I become. I didn’t used to have to pluck my nose. Or cut my toe nails with dog clippers.
Molly Moggs, my gorgeous little pub in Soho is a very old lady. She’s been here since 1731 and subsequently like all of us as we get a bit older, needs a lot of maintenance.
Living in London’s West End as I do you get to see and hear some funny things. Steeped in history with layers of time overlapping, things spring out at you through the mists of time. It’s a bit like being at the steam room on a Saturday night… you never know what’s going to poke at you from out of the fog
Eyelashes are funny things, aren’t they? As a Drag Queen, I seem to spend half my life plucking, shaving or tweezing one protrusion or another into submission. I don’t use hair removal creams, ‘cause they bring me out in a rash.
I think we know each other well enough now for me to broach that most British of taboos. No I’m not talking about Katie Price, I’m talking about gay sex.
Much to my dismay, the time has finally come. I’ve had to have CCTV cameras fitted in my little pub Molly Moggs.
© Copyright 2009 Pinkwire, Talent Media.
Designd & powerd by ENTWURF.