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And Adrian Welch wept for there were no more shops to board up. Just his own.
Waking up in Doncaster I realised there was no God. Pass it on.
To Scarborough, a town that is a little prettier than Doncaster. It was the lowest selling gig of the last tour, but not this time. Probably double the audience, in a smaller room and the audience on three sides. Lots of fun.
I had walked round Scarborough looking for dinner and got recognised a couple of times, both I think, by people not coming to the gig, but one had good advice on where to get dinner - too late alas as I was eating an M and S sandwich by then. As I walked back to the theatre I stopped at the lights waiting for the green man. A man sidled up beside me and said "All right love?" He was looking at me from behind and so it turned into a Benny Hill sketch as I turned round and he apologised saying, "I thought you were a woman, because of the long hair."
But kudos to him to be flirting at a pedestrian crossing at 6pm on a Thursday with a woman he's only seen the back of. I've still got it. For men drinking in the street in Scarborough. If I'd flirted back he wouldn't have minded so much that I wasn't a woman. Nobody's Perfect. Also, what is gender? And had the man known that my genitals weren't the full supposedly male package, would he have apologised at all?
Someone tweeted that all men over 50 with long hair look like wizards rather than women, but I think it's 50/50 and I am definitely more gran than Gandalf. Obviously I am short of stature and at least have the hands of a wizard, but a female child one, so should I cut my hair to signify to the world that I am all man (even though I am deficient in the scrotal arena) or should I just embrace the fact that I will join various rock stars by being referred to as a grandma on Twitter? My hair is who I am. But who I am is a huge prick. So maybe I should change so I don't embarrass drunk men in Yorkshire towns who just want to get their end away with any random stranger.
Who am I kidding? As annoying as the sexual harassment is, I'd miss it when it's gone. I can still turn on drunk men in Scarborough just by showing them my long hair and shapely figure. I'll rebuff all advances, but secretly be pleased they are still happening. Many men my age can't even get a wolf whistle from the fattest man on a building site. I should enjoy the autumn of my sexuality.
