LAST Wednesday night I did not want to go to The Lost Weekend late bar.
But it's precisely when you don't wish to go there, that you really ought to. That's what I find.
So I went. And I'm glad I did...
Earlier on I'd been in Hell's Waiting Room, and after listening to Billy Bustimes bang on about his former working life in Dover for the 92nd time, my patience snapped.
With that high sarcasm we Wiganers are famed for, I said to him: "Eeeh, Billy, I could listen to your tales of Dover for hours ... if only I was p****d to the point of stupefaction."
That shut him up for a while and everyone laughed - including Billy.
His wife, Pollyanna, is due to return home any day now after a long period spent working away.
So Billy left the pub early to go home to do a spot or ironing and high-dusting to get the house ready for the homecoming of She Who Must Be Obeyed.
Apparently she wears a badge on her pinny that carries the slogan: "Resistance is futile."
And so it came to pass that myself and Slutty Hardman decided to trundle off to The Lost Weekend.
On the way we tapped on the window of Dixie the Jazzman's flat and beckoned him to come along and join us after he'd finished watching some dodgy vid featuring Steven Seagal.
It was a film called Taste Cold Steel And Die or summat. Whatever gets you through the night, Dixie.
Arriving at the late bar it soon became clear that it was an overspill night from the gay disco held by nearby pub Patsy's Parlour each Wednesday till midnight.
It is always quite an intriguing scene at The Lost Weekend. There is a flavour of those bars at international spaceports that you find in Star Wars and other sci-fi films.
You know, full of weird looking creatures.
So on Wednesday night there were lots of Girls Who Like To Dress As Boys giving plenty on the dance floor.
Also in the house were several old New Brightonians and Wallaseyans who have been dancing the nights away on New Brighton seafront for some 50 years or more.
Think "endearingly flaky" and you'll have the character of the bar crowd and of the New Brighton community in general.
The live singer that night, Just Graham (I'm using his real name, incidentally), was, er, super, great, fabulous.
No, really. I've seen this fella before and he's a real crowd-pleaser who belts everything out note-perfect.
Even though I was suffering a very sore foot (the latest theory is that I have gout) I couldn't resist jigging about energetically to some of his numbers, including a blistering version of Town Called Malice.
It was certainly lovely to see some of New Brighton's more mature set in The Lost Weekend. One regular, Malandra Mullet, always commands attention on the dance floor as she writhes around in skin tight Capri pants.
It is like watching two ferrets fighting in a sack.
And Just Graham brought the house down with his version of that old and much-loved "song from the darkest hour", Sit Down by James.
This ditty, with its strange references to "extremes of sweet and sour" and "hope that God exists" perfectly sums up the fascinating locus genii (local spirit) of New Brighton.
Here's one of the most powerful verses...
"Those who feel the breath of sadness
Sit down next to me
Those who find they're touched by madness
Sit down next to me
Those who find themselves ridiculous
Sit down next to me."
When you've danced to that, next to a smiling Bull Dyke in buttoned-down Ben Sherman, you just know you are living though unusual times.
And living well.
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Alberre wrote...
Well Mr. Regan got a weekend treat here. Didn't expect another blog so soon. I was just settling down nicely to read your blog in my office (a 3m X 2m box with an aircon unit the size of a jumbo jet engine) when water started p***ing out of the aircon all over the computer. Not to be deterred from finishing off reading the blog in the face of imminent electrocution, I hastily summoned one of my minnions to fetch a bucket and move my computer out of the way of the torrent of water gushing from the aircon. I could now continue reading in peace.
This piece you wrote sums up the rare forays I have indeed made to "The Lost Weekend" myself. Well, with the appeitite truly wetted for a return to Madford-On-Sea, its only 12 days to Hel'ls Waiting room.
New Brighton Massive (Middle East Branch)
Posted by: Alberre | June 24, 2006 5:54 AM