Hold on a sec, I’ve just got to fix this eyelash.

Okay, it’s right now. You haven’t seen a pair of black boots around, have you? I could have sworn I- no, wait, here they are.

Oh, but where are my manners? I’m the Saturday Night Boy. For the eighty percent of the local traffic, I’m also Queer, Emo, Goth and Tranny. But, that’s another highway and this is Saturday night.

It’s actually a lot easier than you think; sliding into the groove, that is. The face always takes the longest, but it’s essential. No one goes for the scrag panda look, even in the midst of a dim alley. A light line under the lids is a good start for a greenie. Don’t blow it out of proportion. More is less and Priscilla is out. If you haven’t already been to the hair dressers this month, honey, you ain’t going anywhere tonight.

The aim is fresh and your greatest conquest is to pull the same trick on the same joker without giving up your hand. That’s a joke, hon.

For base purposes, I’m always sure to fix myself with protection. My dearest apologies to the twenty percent I might have offended, but all stereotypes aside, the rumours are true. It gets dirty fast and is not something I often talk about. Nobody likes a tattle tale, even if they love to tattle. Remember that.

Damn these lace ups! Sorry. This is going to take a while…

Anyway, once you’re gorgeous, there’s only the content to worry about. If you’re keen, you might have already hooked up with something certain, but for the majority of us who aren’t using walking with the aid of a cane it’s about the thrill of the chase. And don’t assume you’ll always be the hunter. Boys will be boys, but so will girls. Be ready for it.

Clothing is less important as the night goes on. A strong colour is always a must. It’s kind of a flag for the poor sod sifting dizzily through the club in your general direction. If he doesn’t make it to the other end before the night’s up, neither will you.

The sod’s also a grey area. Most go for the scruffy management type, but that’s usually a letdown. Weary woes and thirty seconds aren’t worth the energy. What you want is a girl out on the town. Just a quant little number that keeps a glass in her hand and pepper spray in her purse. That’s for your protection as much as hers.

Would you be a darl and help me with this boot? The lace is caught under the- yeah, that’s it.

Anyway, if you do manage to hook something, don’t get too personal. You want passion, not personality. Anywhere beyond a few drinks is too close. Just slip away. Are you listening? You don’t want that in these parts.

Oh, and if anyone says anything, you know, about me, they’re lying. Thirty two is the new twenty three.

I know what you’re thinking. What a fad, hey? Saturday night and here I am stuck with a princess who wants a princess.

Well, aren’t we all?

Ravers rave and Jivers jive, so what are the queer Goths and tranny Emos supposed to do? The world’s full of flavour and here we are, scared to death with our tongues sealed in our mouths. What’s all this about?

It’s about knowing the balance between every detail; all the shining lights and the dark aftermath. It’s about feeling clean when your hands are dirty. It’s about knowing you- Damn! smudged my liner…

I’ll see you out there, yeah? Remember what I told you.

Just go… I’ll be a minute.