William Hague speaks frankly about gay rumours

Brother to Brother - Film Review

PRIDE LONDON 2010

Mon 1 Mar, 2010.
by Jeff Kristian

• “Closet Of Desire”
• “The Kirby Grip Of Doom”
• Meeting The Neighbours
• Adolf The Whelk
• “Dating Florrie”
• “That There Coalition Thingy”
• ADVENTURES OF A DRAG QUEEN – by Jeff Kristian “Twilight Tits”
• “Dancing Queen”
• ADVENTURES OF A DRAG QUEEN – by Jeff Kristian “Off To Oz”
• Doris and Bert

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“Could you imagine if Queen Victoria had been called Doris?” I said to Charlie. “Queen Doris… how camp is that? We’d be visiting the Doris and Albert Museum.”

Doris and Bert

We love our little Soho pub Molly Moggs. But as with many things in life, sometimes you’ve just got to get away for a few hours. So it was the other day that my partner Charlie B and I decided to lock the office, jump in a cab and just disappear. “Where d’ya wanna end up” said the Cabbie, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Somewhere cheap!” yelled Charlie before I had a chance to put my mouth in gear. And so it was we ended up at the glorious Victoria and Albert Museum in Knightsbridge… free entry, donations on the door.

The place is vast.

We stood in awe for a moment in the entrance lobby, as did a coach party of little elderly wrinkled folk. One remarked to his wife, “Their heating bill must be big, Doris”. I giggled. “Could you imagine if Queen Victoria had been called Doris?” I said to Charlie. “Queen Doris… how camp is that? We’d be visiting the Doris and Albert Museum.” “Doris and Bert” he added. Suddenly the austerity of the Victorian Gothic interior lightened when reconsidered as ‘Doris Gothic’. And the list is endless. You could return home by train from Doris Station at Doris, to be warmed in front of your cast-iron Doris fireplace in the front room of your Doris terraced house. Or catch the bus along Doris Embankment… I’m even boring myself with it now! Still, the Museum ahead of us looked promising.

We’d heard a rumour that Princess Di’s Wedding Dress was on display here. So I grabbed a floor plan and we headed into the depths. First came a hall of statues. There was one of a woman crying. One of two men fighting. Another of a man chained to a rock. “This is depressing!” said Charlie. I had to agree. Through a giant doorway was a great hall of Oriental things… and then more statues. “I need a toilet” I said. “I need a fag” said Charlie. Out comes the floor plan. But the writing is so small that I can’t actually read it. We decide to follow the smell of coffee… if there’s a Café, there must be a loo. Thankfully there was, so Charlie grabs a drink while I have a piddle. Then, after almost being knocked off our feet by a youth running through the Great Hall of Plastic Things, we happen upon yet more statues. “Is these the same statues as before or is these other statues?” asks Charlie, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Not sure” I replied. “Look for a man chained to a rock”. “Hmm” said Charlie. “I’m sure that one there had a bigger cock the last two times we came through”. “Perhaps he was pleased to see you the first two times. Now he’s just bored”. “I know how he feels” said Charlie. “Let’s try upstairs”.

At the top of the third flight, we have to stop for breath. We’ve probably walked about three miles by this time and my sciatica’s kicking in. In front of us atop a pedestal is yet another statue, this time a bust of Doris herself. “Is that the one they used to kill Archie in The Queen Doris on Eastenders?” asks Charlie. Through yet another great hall of old things, we’re beginning to give up hope of ever finding this fucking wedding dress. Then finally I see a sign pointing towards the Hall of Textiles. “That’s it!” my cry echoes up the hall. Two tourists leap from an adjoining alcove, cameras poised desperate not to miss anything. They seem quite rattled when they realise they haven’t.

Finally, we reach the costumes. They run in chronological order from about seventeen-hundred to date. “Look at this Charlie”. It’s a huge bustled silk gown in a dull sage green. Probably the sort of thing Doris herself would have worn. “God, I’m glad women don’t wear that now. If I had to dress like that for my drag show I’d be sweating like some wild farm animal”. We have a good laugh, but the tables are soon turned when we reach the nineteen-seventies. Two young students are pointing and laughing at a brown velvet suit with big lapels and flared trousers, topped off with a paisley shirt and two-tone platform shoes. Charlie looks devastated. “What’s the matter, darling?” I ask. “I used to wear a suit exactly like that!” he cringes. The students turn and ask if they can take a photo of us ‘museum exhibits’ with their i-phone. Hmm. So we’re sorry for taking the piss out of your Museum Doris and Bert. Reflecting, we did actually have a lovely afternoon!

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