With all this talk of curried sailors, (please see the blog of sociopath74 fact fans!), I am happily reminded of last Saturday night, which I was virtual blogging in my head all night, but forgot to write down when I got home.
This is Seethong, (See Tong) also known as Futon by my culturally ignorant father, also known as 'the Asian man' because that is what he is.
He came out drinking with us in Chichester last Saturday night. A little background on Chichester, if you will.
http://www.upmystreet.com/local/my-neighbours/neighbourhood-profile/l/chichester.html
An excerpt, for those with the attention span of a frog (how've you got this far, incidentally?')
"Leisure activity is varied. Many enjoy evenings at the theatre. Some play golf or exercise at the gym. Others have an interest in antiques, wine, eating out or in current affairs."
For that, please read, "the handful of teenagers that venture out on a Saturday night have the regulation Toni & Guy modern mullet and tuck their nylon shirts into their Burton's trousers. Don't expect to find so much as a pigoen out past 11pm"
So, a crazee night was had by all in the local Wetherspoons, where many cheap shots were downed and the muted TV in the background slowly suffocated conversation. That is, until we staggered into The Fountain Inn, favoured by pot bellied beardy men in black. A band was playing. The lead singer was a pot bellied beardy man in black. He was covering Sweet Home Alabama. There was a small crowd of beardy men with their pot bellies straining against their black t-shirts, standing round, nodding politely.
I was about to go home and put the kettle on, when Seethong, spurred on by god know's what, decided to break through the circle and dance. He was joined within a matter of seconds by a skinhead in a tight black t-shirt and a sailor's hat, who I think may have been licking paint off the walls in the gents, because he was sky high on something. I do not know where this creature came from or indeed where he went afterwards. Perhaps he was a gift from God himself, or perhaps he couldn't afford the train fare to Brighton.
Now bear in mind, this is Chichester, people enjoy the broadsheets on a Sunday and having their shoes buffed by illegal immigrants. The sight of a gay sailor who was off his tits and a small Asian man doing suggestive things on the dancefloor has never been seen in these here parts. At one point, Seethong in his misguided drunken 'feeling the love' mood tried to hug the sailor, who grabbed his head, forced it into his crotch and kept it there for far too long. IT. WAS. FRICKIN'. AWESOME!
When the band finally gave it up and the sailor had gone to press himself up against somebody else small and vulnerable, Seethong decided to go to the toilets and put his head under the dryer for twenty minutes. Possibly to remind him of the tropical breezes of home. He then came back to my home, and kept my Christian flatmates awake by vomiting in the bathroom they'd cleaned at 8.30am that morning. What a hero! What an Asian man!