Fag Hag Diary

Bring your own, love!


The Fag Hag donned her glittery bronze courts and sayshay/shantayed her way into Soho for a screening last night. A screening has all the fun of a premiere (ie it’s free and not filled with Barnet Odeon teenagers) but without the need to don diamante encrusted, ass-exposing chaps. As I sauntered into the womb-like cinema room of the Charlotte Street Hotel to see In the Loop, I clicked my fingers at a lady wearing black rims holding press releases. ‘Where’ the booze?’ I demanded imperiously. Well let’s face it, a screening isn’t a screening without a glazed cocktail sausage and a glass of Pinot Grigio.She shuffled around so nervously I felt like I’d just asked Jospef Fritzl whether I could use his basement toilet. ‘Erm, it’s upstairs. In the bar,’ she replied.

‘UpSTAIRS. In the BAR? To be PAID FOR?’ I roared, Lady Bracknell-style. She nodded dumbly. So finally I had been confronted with it – the recession at its cruellest, ugliest and most harrowing. The end of free booze at screenings. May god have mercy on us.

But I took a deep breath, turned on my heel Scarlett O’ Hara style and decided to brave that muggles bar. And part with cash monies. And if with that one small gesture I can inspire someone else to do the same, then my life won’t have been in vain. 



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