It was about 10 o'clock on the Saturday evening of the Spring Glitz weekend at the Seabank Hotel in Blackpool. The cabaret had just begun, but it wasn't to my liking at all - it was a male drag artist miming to taped songs. In my opinion, if someone's going to sing for entertainment, let them do it using their own voice! And the music? A mediocre recording played at ear-splitting volume. Now, I like loud music, but this stuff was so 'bright', it would've cut through plate steel! And anyway, why do people assume that an audience composed mainly of heterosexual men wants to be entertained by a guy in drag?
Having endured as much as I could, I went to sit downstairs in the front lounge, followed over the next half-hour by a steady stream of others. We found it more entertaining to stand by the full-length windows (which overlook the pavement, the road, the promenade, then the sea) and wave at the passers-by. Most displayed good humour, and some jeered or whistled, but a handful - mainly drunks returning from a drinking spree after the local football match that afternoon - turned nasty, and tried to get into the hotel. Fortunately, for the guests' security, the front door was kept locked to non-residents.
It had been a glorious spring day, and it was still quite warm outside, so a half-dozen of us decided to live dangerously, and ventured out onto the street and the promenade for some air. As it happened, only one yobbo gave any trouble, loudly volunteering the opinion that all trannies should be shot - however, unsupported by his colleagues, and having some difficulty remaining vertical due to the effects of alcohol, he was in no position to carry out his wish. Instead, he impotently waved a beer bottle in our direction, muttered something incomprehensible as befitted his neanderthal intellect, and staggered away. Meanwhile, this disturbance had attracted some attention from the guests in the bar of the hotel next door, and, having been beckoned inside, four of us tried unsuccessfully to negotiate with the doorman. "Sorry, residents only," had been the reply. "But we are residents", we'd insisted. Of course, he'd meant residents in his hotel, not ours. But he knew we weren't going to be any trouble, and after exchanging some light-hearted banter, we left the premises, displaying mock dejection to our audience. Incidentally, the hotel on the other side had no such rule, and Rikki and I were later to spend an enjoyable couple of hours in its bar flirting outrageously with a trio of girls in town for the weekend. It always amazes me that modern girls see us trannies as sisters, and don't realise that most of us are every bit as red-blooded and predatory as the next man - chat-up lines always work, however corny ...... but that's another story!
Having been refused entry to the (first) hotel, we descended the steps back onto the street, and into the path of a group of five boys aged about ten or twelve. One of them made a comment in our direction - it didn't sound particularly complimentary, so I asked "Did you say something?" Evidently surprised, all five of them froze, staring at me with wide eyes. "They weren't expecting that!", I thought. "Let's have some fun here!" So I looked directly at one of them, took a pace or two towards him, and demanded "What did you say to me?" He stared for a second more, then panicked and started to run, closely followed by his friends. Some of us gave chase for a few metres, just for effect.
Back inside our hotel lounge a few minutes later, I'd been teased about not picking on someone of own size - I'd replied that, at over six feet tall in my high heels, finding such a person would be difficult! Then: "Look - there they are again!" The same five boys were walking back along the promenade on the other side of the road. Now, the road along the Golden Mile is two lanes in each direction, so it's quite wide - the boys obviously considered that they were in a safe position, and began to jeer at us. One of them - the same one I'd addressed earlier - turned to face the hotel, and with arms outstretched, gave a sequence of V-signs in our direction. He thought that no-one would give chase across the road - but he was wrong! I remember muttering something like "little sod!" as Rikki and I dashed towards the door - the boy stood his ground, defiantly continuing his activity. We ran out into the street, checked that there was no traffic coming, then dashed into the road - over one lane, then a second. Suddenly realising that the road was going to offer him no protection whatsoever, the boy's facial expression changed from boldness to fear - he stopped gesticulating, and bolted towards his friends, who were already some distance away. We gave chase along the middle of the road for a dozen paces, but he was running like his life depended on it - maybe he thought it did!
And if we'd caught him, would we have beaten him up? Of course not. In full view of his mates, we'd have planted a big lipstick kiss on each of his cheeks - a much more effective deterrent!
From personal notes and correspondence.