Goth barbecue

Normally I agree with the general consensus that Goths are not scary, but as the aging transsexual brushes herself* against me unnecessarily close, I’ve got to admit I’m close to shitting myself, its not the excessive amount of make-up she’s wearing, and it is excessive, even for a Goth. Nor is it the scars I spy on her arm, lengthways which is the “proper” way apparently. What is terrifying me is the “welcome to my parlor” smile as she leers closer and closer. I guess I deserve it, I have accidentally crashed a Goth barbecue.

It’s Sunday and I had a few hours to kill before meeting my lovely girlfriend from the station so I head to the The Rainbow, I know a bit out of the way, but it’s a blazing hot day and the walk doesn’t seem much of a chore. When I do get to the pub the door is blocked by two moody Goths, one with a pork pie hat set at a jaunty angle, the other a skinhead with over dyed eyebrows plucked to meticulous points. I could feel their eyes on me, but I was a Goth for a few months and I was used to inverted sneering and inverted outsider snobbery. Flicking a whasup nod I drop a shoulder and bounce past them, not even bothering to take off my earbuds.

To find the place is dripping with Goths, a live band is setting up and a barbecue has been lit outside. It’s a weird sight to see so many supposed “Nightwalkers” in the day, let alone eating hummus salad trying not to smear their make-up. Goth is a hard look to pull off, to do so you have to commit 100% and look effortlessly comfortable while doing so, that’s why I quit the scene; everyone took themselves far to seriously, but they had too as soon as you don’t and drop character, say by eating a bloody salad and complaining about the heat when your dressed entirely in black, the illusion is shattered and you stop being a Goth and are just a chubby tit in fancy dress.

I get a table near the entrance and notice, rather guiltily, that they are charging to get in, the two at the door wasn’t being moody, I had just pushed passed them. This goes to show how far a little confidence and a bored expression can get you.

overheard at the bar from the bar staff “its like a Tim Burton film, without the stylishness and the cool”

The first band start, Adfinem, they seem to be of the New Wave Emontronica type of music, all sincere wailing and synths over an industrial beat. The vocalist is a young lad that seems younger between songs when the angst dissipates and the coy banter begins, he has a good voice which sounds strong and emotive even without reverb; but my attention is drawn to the keyboardist, he’s a blond Muscle Mary who is easy old enough to be the leads dad. I don’t know if it would be more creepy if he was or wasn’t.

I catch the manager as he is setting up a fan for the obviously uncomfortable clique of baroque Goths in the corner, looking in equal amounts amused and fed up.
“What is this, going on today?” I ask, he smiles
“It’s a Goth barbecue”
“Does this happen every Sunday?”
“Does it fuck” he laughs with a charming Irish brogue
“Was I supposed to pay to get in?” I venture, feeling a little bad.
“Probably, didn’t you?”
“Nah just walked straight past them, should I pay now?” he laughs again and says
“I fucking wouldn’t” as he disappears out back leaving me feeling like the last sane man in the world wandering why the fat Goths insist on wearing tight black latex on a bright august afternoon.


*the female pronoun being a generous concession to her chosen identifying gender

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