Bronzed, with winged tips and doused in Le Male, I clamped the baby pink GHDs to my hair until they sizzled and singed it. Emerging from a cloud of cheap hairspray, I was ready for the dancefloor. I was 18 and had grown up in Blackpool, a place synonymous with hedonism and fun. I came out in high school at the age of 14 and from 16 I studied performing arts at a local college. Underage, I was smuggled into clubs and in my spare time I watched shows in our many beautiful theatres. The bright lights of the illuminations, the showgirls, the feathers, sequins and rhinestones were intoxicating. Blackpool really was – and still is – extraordinary.
When the bar closed, a new adventure would begin. One night, as the sun was coming up (and as was I), a drag queen took me back to her place. I didn’t know the significance of what I was about to experience, but I was to receive an education no university course could ever match.
