Nine Years on - Part 2

[Ckrisg]

After Lusty reminder I dug out the London Contingent trip to Erotica 2002 by the then Carew65,enjoy.

 

Ah Rusty I'm glad you started this thread as I'd almost forgotten the incident with VI and the massage oil. Talk about a Pavlovian response to a bottle!

 

Sunday afternoon and I'm standing outside Earls Court exhibition centre in West London; the agreed rendezvous point for our latest outing. I'm early as there is a Fire Services strike at the moment and it affects a lot of the London Underground.

 

The usual shennanigins occur as Chris from the board is also outside the station and neither of us know what the other looks like. We need Rusty along to sort out the introductions but he seems to be held up somewhere on the transport system. With no money I go in search of a cash machine. It seems as though I have walked most of the area in vain, it seems to be an area that is full of shops that sell nothing useful and restaurants that I can't afford to eat in. The children of the rich are out jogging to keep themselves beautiful and the 'planes grumble overhead on their final approach to Heathrow.

 

Still cash-less I mooch back to the underground station. Chris is still there but of course, I don't know it's him though he keeps looking at me. I daren't show out as Earls Court is (in)famous for having a lot of Australians but more relevantly and totally unrelatedly there is also a massive population of er...friends of Dorothy. Approaching men outside a tube station around here might not be the best move. It's tantamount to a marriage proposal in these parts (or at least a lot of weekend trips to Ikea to gasp at the soft furnishings).

 

Chris thankfully, having none of these soft Southern ways that I have picked up in the last twenty years, is not so inhibited. Clearly pissed off at hanging around he decides to seize the bull by the horns and marches up to me. We then spend more than a few minutes comparing notes on Thailand. I am in the presence of an old hand at this game and I declare my newbie status as soon as I can. Listen and learn is a good maxim in my book.

 

Talking of 'bulls by the horns', the exhibition at Earls Court was a meat market. No really. Not like Angels either It was the annual 'Smithfield Show' where cow fanciers from all over the UK gather to compare their Friesians and Charolais. The tube station was disgorging farming types at an alarming rate. Some of them were wearing their battle-dress of milking overalls and wellington boots for their big day out in London. They themselves were meeting friends outside the hall and were busy giving each other 'High-Sixes' (Think about it ... or haven't you ever been to Norfolk?)

 

"Arr ...look at the udders on that, boy".

 

We couldn't hang around with this lot. All they were short of was a guy with a banjo and it wasn't good for our credibility. Frantic calls to Rusty were made. Predictably (this is the London Contingent after all) Rusty and Village Idiot were also outside the tube station, but at the other entrance which meant that we had to walk around the block to join them. No sweat.

 

And then there were four.

 

And there were cash machines...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first stop has to be a pub. The first one we came to I tried to veto. I don't trust pubs that are painted black on the outside and have wooden floors and big windows. I needn't have worried as the pub was perfectly okay if a little rough. They were advertising "Broken Leg of Lamb" for Sunday lunch. The first question the pub quiz was "What are you looking at?"

 

The bouncers on the door threw us in.

 

The barmaid was a pleasant sort. Educated - her tattoos were spelt right. Fashionable - her lipstick was the same shade as her Doc Marten boots. Nice place.

 

Two pints of Stella and two pints of Fosters (repeat as necessary) and we were esconsed in the darkest corner that we could find (just underneath the pentacle drawn on the wall).

 

Village Idiot has still got issues about his nickname. He isn't 100 per cent happy about it at all. I can't blame him but I explained that it is a mark of great affection and not a personal attack on him by Rusty. He cheered up when I told him that his exploits were legend and that, face it, we have a board member called 'SileakHunt' which is about as self-depracating as you can get.

 

It was getting a little too cosy in the pub. Stories and anecdotes flew. Good advice was all part of the package and plans were laid for Christmas. Nice, loose, chilled out plans ...not the kind that state that "on Monday we will go to XXX bar and on Tuesday we'll go to XXXXX bar" Just the kind of plans that are more about relishing the impending trip and sharing the excitement of anticipation. Poor Chris! He can't be in Thailand at Christmas but he bore our gushings of enthusiasm stoically.

 

Didn't we have somewhere to go?

 

We left the pub, carefully wiping our feet on the way out, and got on a train to the exhibition hall at Olympia which was the venue for 'Erotica 2002'. Well, that was the plan but we got on the wrong train. It's only one stop on the line usually but at some point near Maidenhead we reckoned we might have got the wrong train. Ah - fuck it.

 

We got off the (wrong) train and hung about on the platform for a train back to London. Dying for a piss after all the beer, and with no toilets available, we did what you have to do under the cycloptic gaze of the CCTV cameras. Perhaps it's something about cameras that makes Rusty get his knob out. I dunno. Rusty was, of course, impeccably turned out. Suit, tie, crombie overcoat and polished shoes. The whole nine yards. The rest of us resembled the Three Stooges in comparison. Rusty exuded the air of a man who is popping into London to collect money from people who'd better pay up. Otherwise it's horses heads in the bed time.

 

A train approached. A proper train, not one of the little tube trains. What to do? Rusty took charge and headed along the platform to the train drivers compartment.

 

"Oi mate. You going to Olympia?"

 

The driver, confronted by this tasty looking geezer and his heavies, would have agreed to go anywhere. Having hijacked a Connex South East commuter train we soon arrived at Olympia. The train driver, much relieved, resumed his journey with his remaining disgruntled passengers.

 

We had arrived. Just.

 

 

Communist Russia was famous for its queues. For all I know it still is. I've seen queues outside Wembley Stadium and the Arena. I've seen queues outside the Houses of Parliament. I've stood in queues in towns from Manchester to Mumbai but, and I swear this is true, I have never seen a queue like the one outside 'Erotica 2002' at Olympia. There were old men in the queue who hadn't started shaving when they first joined it. This was the biggest queue from the Planet Queue in the constellation of Queue. So long, in fact, that VI couldn't take it any more and went to the pub up the road whilst we reserved his space. Ostensibly he'd gone for a piss but...well it's rude to just use the toilets and not buy a drink isn't it? Be fair. So we stood in the queue and the pissing rain whilst VI checked the quality of the lager in the 'Kings Arms'. Good move.

 

The rain. The exhibition organisers had thought of rain though. Scantily clad girls patrolled the queue handing out disposable pacamacs. Bright pink they were. Chris and Rusty availed themselves of a couple and stood there looking for all the world like two giant condoms. Well at least they were dry. A German guy and his gothic girlfriend were behind us and happily discussed their sex life with anybody that would listen. We listened.

 

A blast of car horns heralded the return of VI, a glow infusing his features following his libations, as he weaved his way across the main road with the total confidence that only a man who is happily pissed can have. And the queue moved. With impeccable timing VI, displaying that innate extra-sensory perception that comes with 7 pints of Stella Artois, had arrived just as we moved into the main hall to present our tickets to the security guys.

 

Rusty now looked like a teacher from a special needs school who was taking his less able students on a day out. He sorted out the formalities and handed out our special carrier bags emblazoned with the 'Erotica 2002' logo. We were in.

 

 

 

First stop was the toilet. Blessed relief! Then er...the bar. There was some kind of a stage show going on and people crowded to it. The Contingent weren't too impresssed though. It was a bit arty and the birds didn't get their tits out so we had another pint.

 

Rusty was the first to break ranks; the last I heard of him was via a mobile phone. He was queueing (again!!!) to get into 'Private's marquee. There, you could see a bit of hardcore and then meet the girls in the film. Rusty watched the films with a jaundiced eye and later declared that he could do better himself.

 

Next year Rusty will have his own marquee. I can see it now...

 

I went to a stall staffed by a gloomy man selling vibrators. For forty quid you could get a mechanical tongue. Quite impressive I thought, but not really what I would present to a girl as I quite like dining at the 'Y' myself. Yeah I know, I'm a Luddite. The reason for the man's gloom became apparent when he told me that they weren't the best sellers as they licked too slowly! Shucks. I'm gutted.

 

The one thing that struck me about the whole event was its...tameness. Very tame. Imagine a vast indoor market that sells nothing but fetish gear, vibrators, dildoes and porn films. After a while -a very short while - it becomes a bit boring. There is something about some English people that still sees sex as 'dirty' or as a sniggering subject. There was a bit of crumpet about: Lynsey Dawn Mackenzie was there and she got to meet Rusty

 

Strange couples compared bondage equipment and tested 'love-swings'. Myself and Chris mooched about being underwhelmed by the whole thing. Are we so jaded? Well, yes, I suppose we are. I was in Amsterdam the week before and it was reminiscent of the red light district without the opportunity to road test the porn stars.

 

We went for another pint...

 

One distraction was seeing a crazed and pissed up punter being ejected. Even whilst being dragged through a door to a loading bay by the security goons (off duty squaddies if ever I saw them) to an undoubted 'mysterious falling incident' he had a grin on his face that made me want to save him and tell him "get yourself to Thailand you muppet". Or perhaps not eh?

 

Another circuit. More dildos, vibrators, videos, handcuffs, legcuffs, nipple clamps, lingerie, rubber, leather, latex...it was all becoming a bit mundane. Seen one stall -you've seen 'em all right?

 

After a couple of hours I had had enough. I decided to check out VI's pub up the road from Olympia. I was a bit pissed already and I weaved my way along Gloucester Road with my 'Erotica 2002' declaring my depravity to the denizens of Kensington. In the pub I sat, drinking on my own feeling mildly depressed by the whole experience. Thankfully I was soon joined by my three compadres and things picked up.

 

We all looked at VI's video and DVD covers. Amazing. We carried on talking about LOS and basically picked up where we had left off in the pub earlier.

 

Strange isn't it? It seemed that the majority of visitors to the show had been after creating fantasies that would seem incongruous once they got their new gear back to their semi-detached homes in Slough. Horses for courses I suppose but these same people might be the type to actually balk at my own fantasies. Fantasies (for that is what my Thailand trip is and I'm under no illusion about that) that take place in warm sunshine with great company, good beer and good laughs, great food served on streets that are pure theatre - as I say, horses for courses, whatever floats your boat and so on.

 

Give me Thailand and the London Contingent anyday. No bullshit and Thailand delivers on whatever level you want.

 

Erotica? When you have to say its 'erotic' it stops being anything of the sort to me. I'm just glad I didn't go to 'Erotica 2002' without knowing about Thailand. I'd just end up frustrated by the whole event. A little like the couple from Slough who probably find that their love-swing splits and breaks at the first go...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[carew66]

Jesus Christ - did I go on and on back then or what?

 

It was a very strange day.

 

I pop in here fairly regularly still. It's a habit. Also, I get the odd PM from folks I've met over the years (usually of the 'I'm in Bangkok tomorrow night, can you drop everything and travel for 2 hours for a couple of beers in Nana' variety. Er...no, actually. I can't.)

 

About three weeks ago I was in Pattaya on one of those very missions; my sister's ex-hubby turned up for some fun in Funky Town. Great.

 

 

BUT: I ran into Aussie K and we had a pretty damn good session over 2 days. We were thinking about a Christmas reunion for the class of 2001. I mean, Rolf is still there in Soi 8. He never changes.

 

High points of Pattaya trip: I tried that pie shop/kiosk on Beach Road. Meat and Onion. 90 baht I think and well worth it. Crossed over to the beach side, sat on a low wall eating it, surrounded by mangy beach dogs and mangier freelancers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Nervous God]

Loved those mini convention reports - always fun

[Redbaron]

Just read through a few searches... tears running down my face as the current miss red comes home from walking the dog...

 

a few fave's

 

London Contingient 2004

 

Xmas 2002

 

another one and anorther

 

hope they work... if they don't just search posts started by carew and all will come together.. Thanks for the memories guys.. Miss you all