From the East Anglia events magazine, Grapevine
Scott, a San Franciscan, is camper than a troop of Brighton boy scouts pitching a row of pink chiffon tents. Although in Scott’s case you’ll find that the chiffon tears you apart like shark’s skin and the guy ropes are razor wire. He too had to deal with the distraction at the bar. A group, who by their own admission were at their first comedy night, obviously thought we’d all paid to listen to them rather than the comedians. Scott poked up with this for about…oh, a minute I reckon and then turned his material on them. What he said could in no way be considered diplomatic or PC but as an exercise in crowd control it was first class. Focusing on their ringleader who, having refused to give his name, he christened Cindy, Scott proceeded to let him know what he would like to do with him. Don’t get me wrong, it was all very complimentary, I guess, but not what your average twenty something male wants to hear from a tall, confident homosexual on Viagra, particular when it’s accompanied by the braying laughter of the rest of the room. Give him his due, the guy took it well…er I mean he accepted what was being said to him with alacrity (didn’t want you to get hold of the wrong end of the stick!) and they even had a chat when the show had finished (although the guy left pretty quickly – strange that?). I can’t imagine Scott Capurro ever being invited to give his views to the General Synod of The Church of England but on this evidence I’d happily listen to his point of view again, although, laughter aside, I’d do it in silence.
From me: oddly, after the show, the boys perched on the bar surrounded me and chatted very flirtily. I accused them of being ginger and they all showed me their pubes to prove they weren’t. Guys are so easy, they just love being complimented. They then asked if I had any coke – HOT – and they offered to take me drinking. In Wivenhoe. On a Thursday, after 11. God knows where we would’ve wound up. I sort of regret not finding out. Were I 10 years younger, I would’ve. Ok, 15. But I needed my bed.
Sad clown. x