"When I came from the VD clinic, I thought our love was finished"

After Polari on Monday we spent a few enjoyable hours in the company of Celine and 80s cult pop icon Coati Mundi, still every bit as crazy as he was all those years ago!

So I thought I would post his greatest (solo) hit, for your delectation to see for yourself (if you are unfamiliar with the man) just how much fun you can have in a fedora...

Coati Mundi - Que Pasa/Me No Pop I

Masterful lyrics, too:

Que pasa? que pasa?
Que pasa contigo?
No me digás
Que tu no me quieres más
What's happenin' with you
What's on your mind?
I know you want to say:
"Bye, bye, que te veo, veo"

I give you everything you need
Money, home, insurance policies
And I don't even have from you
A money back guarantee
You're always playing with my head
Like when you say: "I no good in bed"
You ain't got no heart
You just want to beat me up
I know I'm having hard time
That's why you want to say bye bye
You're trying to get rid of me

I know
Que pasa? que pasa?
I know, I know
Que pasa contigo?
My heart say so?
No me dirás
Que tu no me quieres más
What happening with you?
What's on your mind?
I know you want to say:
"Bye, bye, que te veo, veo"

Hay mujer mía
Que quieres de mi vida
Yo te trato bien
Todavía tu no estas feliz
El amor no es un relajo
No juegues con mi corazón
Y por favor
En frente de gente
No me digas: "Histérico"
Fijate ahora
Porque todo mi no me importa
Por fin eres tú la que vas a sufrir
Si te quito mi dinero tú no puedes vivir

I know
Que pasa? que pasa?
I know, I know
Que pasa contigo?
My heart say so?
No me dirás
Que tu no me quieres más
No no no no no no
What happening with you?
What's on your mind?
I know you want to say:
"Bye, bye, que te veo, veo"

Hay que linda te ves...

Sure your love was there
Like-a dandruff in my hair
Like pollution in the air
Like a fruit-fly on a pear
But I don't really care
I throw my hands in the air
And I step round to the music
Like a Fred Astaire, you dig

I may not be a Gable
But I'm ready willing and able, hang on this
Check me out

I'm the George Raft of the leisure class
I'm the James Dean of the music scene
The call me Eddie G 'cause I do what I please
They call me Lenny Bruce 'cause I tell good jokes
I wear baggy pants and two-tone shoes
I'm a gentleman, with me you can't lose
I'm 5 foot three, but if you mess with me
You're gonna lose your manhood,
...you dig

I tell you, there'll be another bi-centennial
Before I hear the truth from your mouth
You better hear me out,
You better hear me out

Me no Popeye, you no Olive Oyl X4

The truth is so mighty real

When I came from the VD clinic
I thought our love was finished

How could you be so crude
Makin' love to so many dudes
But you love to get it on
Like a Mr King Kong and a sexy blonde

You're a heathen, you got no culture
Uglier than an ulcer

You ain't got no class
With brains like a Medano glass
You're full of fertilizer
Number two is your appetizer
Now wise up, get along

Sticks and stones only break your bones
You must remember dust to dust

Kid Creole the action hero
Says your love for me is zero
But I hope you realise
Love will never die
You can never say bye bye
No matter how much you try

You're asking me to stop it
Go on to another topic
Well I, know no culture, you dig

I tell you, intellectual constipation
Will be the death of this here great nation

You better hear me out
You better hear me out
Me no Popeye, you no Olive Oyl

Bookworm...

Internet has been down at home for two days, MySpazz has gone over to the dark side, but as predicted this is turning out to be a great literary week!



On Monday Madame Acarti, Paul, Jim and I settled ourselves in the "Royal Box" (front table) at Polari (back in the prime surroundings of St Paul's Pavilion where it belongs), to help celebrate the third birthday of "London's peerless gay literary salon". It seems like only yesterday that we first stepped across the hallowed threshold of the (late, dearly departed) Trash Palace in Wardour Street to be educated, entertained and indeed aurally assaulted by the magnificent (and also dearly departed, RIP) Sebastian Horsley!

As Paul Burston - in celebratory mood, understandably - mused, no-one involved in its launch back in The Green Carnation Bar in Frith Street would ever have believed that three years later we would be in such a prominent and prestigious venue as the Royal Festival Hall.

The evening's proceedings opened with fresh faced new author Ryan Child with his stunning and quite scary tale of a rabid queer-basher who falls for the boyfriend of one of his gang's victims. If Mr Child hadn't been so goddam sexy, we might have been a bit depressed at the gritty reality of his words. But he was mesmerising...



Lightening the mood somewhat, Justin Ward "strummed my life with his words" as he regaled with minute detail the excruciating tale of a small-town gay boy trapped in a world of ghastly family parties in social clubs, leery women and drunken oiks - superbly written and hilarious, but very very familiar... Read another of his short stories about dysfunctional families.

Our next reader William Parker was actually born in Newport (the small town that provided me with so many of those familiar scenarios Mr Ward described), but was brought up away from all that - with his booming actor's voice it was obvious he was one of the lucky ones. His story opened (hilariously) with the main character Ben falling drunkenly head-first down the stairs outside Charing Cross station, and revelled in the recollections of the bewildered childhood that had led him to that point - excellently read, excellently written. We loved it! Read more at http://william-parker.com/

Jonathan Kemp is one of the recently announced contenders short-listed for the brand new Green Carnation Prize for gay literature. His novel London Triptych flick-flaks between the lives of male prostitutes in three different eras - Oscar Wilde's turn-of-the-century, 50s post-war, and modern London - and with a couple of explicit extracts (each told from the rent boys' point of view), he had the audience gripped! A strong contender for the prize, I'd say (although my vote is for the fellow shortlisted Rupert Smith's Man's World).

Almost the climax(!) of the evening was the Kiwi author(ess) DJ Connell, whose debut novel Julian Corkle Is a Filthy Liar has variously been reviewed as "a Tasmanian Adrian Mole" and "one of the funniest rites of passage novels in a long time". From the extracts she read it certainly seems a very funny tale indeed, as the exceptionally camp Julian relates his adventures growing up in the uber-macho rural backwoods of Taz...

To round the night off with suitably big bang, our darling Celine had made an extra special effort to be there, and had brought along a very special friend to say a few words of congratulation on the anniversary - the Latino firebrand Mr Coati Mundi (of Kid Creole & the Coconuts and Dr Buzzard's Original Savannah Band fame)!



After Celine had entertained the punters with a selection of her rollicking rhythmic performance poems (during one of which she entwined herself rather firmly around Jim, seated as he was almost on the stage!), it was time for Paul to make his big announcement - the launch of The Polari Prize. Strictly limited to new works rather than previously published authors, the prize is open to a first book which explores the queer experience and is open to any work published in the UK in English within the twelve months leading up to the submission date (poetry or prose, fiction or non-fiction). So start thinking about your nominations now!

After the glitter had settled on the evening's proceedings Madame Arcati, Paul, Celine, Mr Mundi and I trolled off for a swifty at the Retro Bar before dispersing - such good company to finish off a magnificent evening!

---

Continuing the literary theme, last night I went along to Islington Central Library for Homosexuality in literature: sodomy & censorship with Neil McKenna, author of The Secret Life of Oscar Wilde.

This, too, was a fantabulosa (if much less well-attended) event, as the theatrical Mr McKenna took us through a lively selection of examples of where gay lifestyles have been censored, edited, legislated against or erased from the pages of novels, poetry, history books, biographies and the theatrical stage. From early Renaissance comedies, through the Earl of Rochester's play Sodom, to Victorian transvestite rent boys "Fanny" and "Stella", Oscar Wilde, Radcliffe Hall's The Well of Loneliness, Stephen Spender's war poetry to the control that the Lord Chancellor held over the theatre even in the era of Joe Orton, he covered them all...

Whew! It was great, and I want to read (and learn) more. Mr McKenna's historical work about those Victorian trannies, and their scandalous trial, will be published in the new year, and I can't wait to read it. Read more about Neil.

Tonight we are eschewing literature (the book readings by Rupert Smith, Christopher Fowler et al at "Gay's the Word" bookshop) in favour of a rare showing of Terrence McNally's marvellous film The Ritz at the BFI - but this week has definitely been one for books.

I am currently reading Mr Fowler's Paperboy for my LGBT reading group, I recently completed the fourth of Paul Magrs' "Brenda & Effie" books Hell's Belles, and I have decided that as times is 'ard, everyone this Xmas will be getting books from charity shops (which is just another excuse to rifle through the shelves of every "Save The Children", "Oxfam" or "Macmillan Cancer Care" shop from Enfield to Kingston!).

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow