A helping hand

The things I do for Love.

I’d not been having too much luck of late finding Mr Right. After trying the Singles Night, Speed Dating and writing “Will Do Anything To Form Meaningful Relationship With Man Preferably Resulting In Stable Family Unit Of Two Or Three Children Not Particularly Fussy” on my forehead in Soho, I was all out of ideas. (Yes, I have a big forehead. Let’s move on).

Fortunately, just when my need was greatest, I happened to bump into an Old Flame near work. This was obviously the Hand of God, and had nothing to do with the modified GPS prison microchip I sew under the skin of all my exes. Nothing at all.

Over lunch I mentioned where I now live, and he asked if I’d been to the “White Swan” yet. Turns out that this is the pub at the end of my street with the rainbow flag hanging limply out the front that is NEVER open. This didn’t ever particularly surprise me, as our part of east London has a preeeeetty strong Muslim community. Gay pub. Muslim community. Men holding hands. Men without hands. Men kissing men. Big burning hole where the pub was.

What did surprise me, however, is that it opens every night of the week. As The Old Flame explained, it opens at 9pm and closes at 3am, thereby cleverly avoiding any social unpleasantness and also ensuring the very highest calibre of clientele. And best of all [pause for dramatic effect], every Wednesday [hold eye contact], without fail [tremble with anticipation], they hold an Amateur Gay Strip Night.

The Hand of God had thrown me a lifeline. I knew where Mr Right was hiding.