Walking up Queen Street to the venue, I was accosted by that perennial gauntlet of Hara Krishna devotees, who, when not chanting and singing on Friday nights, try to engage you in conversation and sell you some of their books. This particular one who latched on to me wasn't half bad looking so I thought: why not play a little game with him to amuse myself.
This is how the conversation went:
The monk: "Hello, can I ask you a question?"
The Monk: " What do you do in your life?"
Me: "I'm a faggot"
The Monk (visibly uncomfortable and squirming): "Professionally?"
(He obviously knew the word and what it meant, even though I hear they're upposed to have no sex lives)
Me: "No, it's my hobby."
(I swear I saw him blush, he avoided any further eye contact and didn't persist in questioning me any further on it.)
The Monk: "I see we have similar hairsyles" (and took his cap off revealing his shaved skull with a little rat tail hair do)
I pondered about asking him out on a date but I just knew that would have been a step too far. Instead we chatted about the Hara Krishna restaurant on K Road, which incidentally I can heartily recommend if you want some healthy fast food.
I made my excuse to leave and he never even bothered to try to sell me any tracts.
The Buzzcocks, by the way, were a whole load of nostalgic singalong fun. Just like they used to be. I prayed Pete Shelley would sing "Homo Sapien", but that was as likely as laying the Monk.