Queeruption,
121 Centre,
25 September 1998

Julie Travis

11 am
I'm on the bus to Brixton. Don't know how today's going to go, how many will turn up. I'm still disappointed that Gailen pulled out of performing a story of mine at the open mic session, and a little angry that she gave me so little notice - Teresa offered to do it last night, which was really sweet of her, but there was no time to organise it. I meant to print out a copy of my story this morning in case I decide to do it myself, but I had so little sleep it was all I could do just to get moving today.

12 noon
Brixton is busy. I go into MacDonalds to use the toilet and it's locked. I need to find a supermarket to buy vodka and grapefruit juice for The Divine David and there doesn't seem to be one in the high street. Finally I find a Kwik Save tucked away behind the market. It's hot walking to 121. At the centre a few people have already arrived. A fanzine stall is being set up and Sister George are playing on the tape deck. There's artwork hanging around the room. I notice that Mrs Orange, who I'd spoken to the week before, has been and hung some of her stuff. A good start! I find Vaz and chat with him about the spoken word event tonight. Carolyn is sorting out the p.a.. I sit and read, then notice that everyone is sitting and reading - too shy to start talking to each other. I'm annoyed at myself for being the same - I'm one of the organisers, I'm supposed to be making people feel welcome. Start thinking that the open mic thing will be a disaster - do English people do this kind of thing? At Sister Spit in San Francisco, there were dozens of women wanting to take part. Can't see it being that way tonight - no one will even look at each other.

1 pm
The p.a. arrives. Stuff to do at last! I stand outside and watch the van while Offshore, the p.a. guy, who looks like he should be in the UK Subs, and two very young and very straight looking but friendly enough lads (his?) unload. CD player, slide projector and tape deck - stuff The Divine David wanted for his act - all seem to be there. Leave them to set up and check out the basement. It's a lot smaller than I remember, very damp and the steps leading down to it are going to be inaccessable for some. Organise a changing room for the performers.

2 pm
The Internet Activism workshop starts. Sarit is having trouble logging-on but gives a talk, well, an idiot's guide to the internet for people like me. Seems like the internet's a good idea but I don't think I have the patience to get the most out of it. And call me old fashioned, but there's nothing to beat the thud of a letter hitting the doormat. Fuck e-mail. I leave before the end to see what's happening with the p.a.. Sarit is still trying to log-on. Lizzie and Arren have arrived so I chat awhile and show them around. Downstairs is Jane Campbell, ready for her workshop on anarchist sex clubs. Go to the off license with Lizzie and Arren, a depressing experience; I've seen better stocked stores in Poland and it's all way back in the shop behind a counter. Presumably the threat of theft makes this a necessity. I even have to ask for a can of cola. The assistant is off-hand with us, very suspicious.

3.30 pm
We get back to 121 for Jane's talk. She tells us her story, what it was like setting up and running sex clubs in the '80s, the (ironically violent) protests by Women Against Violence Against Women, and why her newest club, Endorfiends, is going public and the problems with getting more women involved. Even the 'old hands', it seems, can become shy when it comes to public sex. A lot of SM dykes don't help by looking down on women who don't look the same as they do. I've been to Endorfiends, though, and it was fun and not cliquey at all.
5 pm
The sex club discussion overran on time badly, and I'm not entirely happy with the way it went - felt Jane reinforced one woman's fear of being older and therefore 'past it', not sexy. Whatever - I should have challenged it, but I didn't want to embarrass the woman. Or did I just chicken out? Probably a bit of both. Arren and Lizzie wander off to find food and I go downstairs to check on the p.a.. It's quite awful down there - a portable gas fire has been put on and all it's doing is making the place sultry. Find out the spoken word event is actually taking place upstairs, which is a mixed blessing - there's an amp and a mic and that's it - all the stuff David wanted is staying downstairs. The location is better but what about the equipment? Wish I'd been left to organize this as I was told I was doing, rather than suddenly having stuff taken out of my control; if this messes up David's act it'll look like I fucked up.

Have been observing the punters - quite a good mixture, no crusties in sight, but some very strange 'green' types that look like they spend their whole lives going from festival to festival. The atmosphere is good, very relaxed now, and people are starting to chat to each other now. The heat is building, I have the most appalling headache and I'm hungry. Can't eat due to my stomach condition (Crohn's Disease and a hiatus hernia) - this place just doesn't have the facilities to cope if it makes me ill. Ask Jane if she's doing the open mic session. She's not sure about doing her own stuff but offers to read my piece - I don't believe it! Joelle Taylor arrives, so I throw everyone out of the upstairs office so she can change. I want to sort out 'business' straight away and she shows me her travelcard. I find I miraculously don't have change of a tenner so she has to take it all. She's really happy - no 'star' stuff here - and tells me she would've come earlier but she saw a man get knocked right up in the air by a car in Stamford Hill and had to give him first aid and talk to the police and stuff. She's a little shaken.

6.30 pm
Arren and Lizzie come back and announce - surrounded by political types tucking into the vegan feast the cafe have just produced - they've been to MacDonalds to eat. It's the funniest thing I've heard all month. Flatmates Rebecca and Liz are here now, too, but The Divine David is nowhere to be found. Decide to try and stop fretting and sit with my two flatmates for a while. Mike Wyeld introduces the spoken word event, and talks about anarchy and queercore. He's spent a lot of time preparing for this and has switched around the soundcheck of his band, Mouthfull, who are playing later at Brady's, to help out. He's the best. Only two people come up for open mic, but it's enough. Charlotte Cooper reads a piece about her dream date, which is good though very American, but I don't like the other reader. He's arrogant and hogs the mic, acting as if everyone's come to see him. Sure, the whole idea of the evening is that anyone can share the same stage as well-known acts and I do admire confidence, but I hate people who make assumptions and overstay their welcome. He claimed to be gay but was very 'male', so different from people like Mike or Arren that they could be different genders.

7 pm
I get Joelle on stage as close to the hour as possible. A bunch of Hackney dykes have just turned up, so she's quite happy. She reads Angels With Dirty Fingernails, 'a whorror story about arachnaphobia and Billy, the boy with tits'. I'd not heard it before, but it's brilliant, funny and powerful and rightly goes down a storm. This woman could have done her stuff all night. The place is jam packed now, with quite a few getting some air outside. Wow.

The Divine David finally arrives just after Joelle has finished. I pay his manager and take the vodka and juice to the changing room. David's charming, very theatrical, but approachable. While he gets changed I find Carolyn, who is going to deal with the music he wants played. He doesn't need the slide projector after all, so it should work okay. I check it's all set up and that Joelle is okay, then clear a way through people and dirty dinner plates to the stage so David can get on.

8.15 pm
The Divine David's onstage. He's beyond bitchy to one woman who's silly enough to have a half-hearted go at him; he verbally cuts her to pieces. There's lots of familiar faces here now and I allow myself to relax a bit. The set is short - less than half an hour - but it's very funny and he goes down well. After, I let him back into the dressing room and say my goodbyes. I could go and check out the films showing in the basement (including Lucy Thane's fab She's Real, Worse Than Queer) or scoot along to Brady's to see Fosca, Mouthfull and Ellyott Dragon, but my headache is becoming quite distressing. I've barely eaten all day because I'm afraid of the effect it will have on me, so I sort out the amp and am on a bus north before the hour's out.

10.15 pm
Finally get off the bus in Clapton and limp towards home. The bus I took from Brixton threw me out somewhere near Liverpool Street because the police had closed the roads around the station. Wandered around for ages and nearly got hit by a police van, then found myself in a weird business centre full of very drunk businessmen and people line-dancing to a country and western band. An old lady points me in the direction of Liverpool Street station and I'm so disorientated I get lost even inside the station. Luckily a kindly cabbie directs me towards Shoreditch. End up near Hoxton Square with people leaving the Transgender Film Festival. I'm on home turf again, but I feel so ill the bus ride to Clapton seems endless. I make some food, have a bath and can feel my headache beginning to ease. The day was a huge success but it will be a while before I can think about that - for now, all that matters is crawling into bed.

Julie Travis
 

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