I'd organised a group of ten of us to go to a fetish club in Old Holborn, London. The theme was the 50th anniversary celebration of the National Health Service. The club entrance was easy to find when we arrived, as there was an old ambulance parked right there. We wandered into the nightclub & I found myself surrounded with latex clad nurses. There was a guy stood over in the corner of the bar bandaged from head to toe in a way that if he wanted to move, he had to shuffle. I got myself a drink & then spotted a sign which said, 'Operating Theatre' over a door entrance so I left my friends to investigate.
I wandered in to the room to find two guys dressed up in pale green hospital uniforms, a real operating table set out & four large steel green & glass hospital cabinets containing lots of shiny steel surgical equipment. I began talking to the guys & discovered that their job was supplying equipment to hospitals though their hobby was collecting it. They were offering 'facial wounds' for a small fee made from latex makeup used in t.v. so I decided to have one. I laid down on the operating table & they got to work building up an ugly deep gash with a bruise on my forehead.
While this is happening, a very hot black babe walks up to me & asks me if I would like to be interviewed by Sky t.v? (This is surreal, I've only been in the club for 15 mins). I tell her I'm interested though as I need to have my wound finished first, I tell her I'll come & find her later on. When the theatre guys finish they pass me a mirror so I can see their handy work. It looks pretty horrific & they complete it by poring some fake blood into the gash which is even more impressive when I stand up as some of the blood begins to trickle down into one of my eyes.
I then go in search of my friends. I find them all sat around a table in the bar. As I walk towards them they look really shocked & assume I've just been in a fight & ask if I was alright. I explain that it's just a fake wound & I mention that I'm going to be interviewed on t.v. so I finish my drink then go of to look for the t.v. crew which I find in a back room.
A fit blonde apologises that I have to wait five mins while a guy with spikes coming out of his head is being interviewed before us. I say, it's not a problem. The blonde apologises again & asks if I would like a drink. I say I'm fine. She then insists I have a drink. I think this is cool. I'm having drinks thrust at me in a form of apology because I have to wait a few extra minutes before being interviewed on cable t.v. My kind of world!
The type of questions I am going to be asked are explained before going on set. I'm also checked for any spikes or pointed objects as I'm going to be interviewed by a Sky celeb on a red inflatable sofa which could easily puncture. I then sit down on the sofa with the celeb, Tara or Tanya, I can't remember. I'm wearing a pair of black leather patched jeans with a big fly zip, heavy black boots, no top & of course, my forehead gash with blood caking up my eye.
I also have a flail hanging from my belt which the camera crew is keen to make visible for the viewers. The cameras roll & the interview begins & continues for 15 mins. I'm so relaxed that I forget about the cameras & feel like I could be chatting with a friend on my sofa in my own living room. Anyway, the interview ends, I sign a form to give permission to have the interview aired then go back to clubbing with my friends. I assume that it's the last I hear of it. Wrong! Two weeks later the programme is aired & several people are coming up to me on the streets to comment (all positive).
The punch line?
At the time I was working as a Psychotherapist. In the early hours of one morning one of my clients stayed up to watch Sky t.v. with her husband & just happened to tune into the programme. She says to him, 'Hey, that's my therapist!' Needless to say, that was her last appointment with me.