When their routines were finished for the night, a few of the lads headed for the pub across the road from the theatre. It looked a fairly ordinary place and, out of their costumes, they didn’t think they stood out much. Once served, they grabbed a table near the door and settled down to drink and chat. Being together probably made them drop their guard and voices grew louder. Lou was in the middle of a story about one of the women dancers and was saying “.. she was so pissed off with her bra that she ..” when another voice cut in.

“She was so pissed off!”

A guy at the table across the room was flapping his hand in a camp way while his companions laughed. He saw them looking and continued.

“Who let these fairies in here? This used to be a real pub!”

Bernie glanced round the room – several faces were turned their way now. He calculated the odds and gave Guiseppe a questioning look.

“Sure” replied his friend.

Bernie turned to their tormentor.

“If you think we’re so limp-wristed, how about a spot of arm wrestling?”

“I don’t do your kind of pervert games.”

“No, I mean, proper arm wrestling.” Bernie insisted and demonstrated what he meant, “Or don’t you think you could beat one of us?”

“I’m not holding hands with a queer.”

“We could put a napkin between your hands so you don’t have to touch. What would make it worth your while?”

“That you piss off and don’t come back.”

Guiseppe stood up.

“And if I won?”

The blokes at the other table laughed coarsely.

“In your dreams!” announced their leader.

“Possibly,” replied Guiseppe, “but if I did … how about you suck-a my dick?” He always exaggerated the Italian accent when he was fired up.