By Jacqui Deevoy posted on Facebook
At a gay bar in Brighton. Seating all sectioned off with floppy plastic partitions. Upon entry, they want you to hand sanitize, give your details and have your temperature taken. If I was on my own, I’d have refused and left.
As it was, I said no to the temperature-taking and sanitizer and gave reasons (PTSD around gun-shaped devices and allergic to sanitizer). I wrote ‘Dominica Cummings’ and a fake phone number on the bit of paper they thrust at me.
There are no live acts tonight, no karaoke and no one’s permitted to dance. You have to stay in your own ‘bubble’ and aren’t supposed to talk to other customers. If you want to be served, there’s no going to the bar – you have to hold up a sign that says ‘hey, Queeny!’ and a waitress comes and takes your drinks order. If you want the toilet, you ask one of the staff to get you a toilet token. It’s like being at primary school.
I’m trying to work out what’s going on – what I’m doing – because this isn’t socialising.
The drag queen hostess told us it’s all for a good reason and that all these measures are stopping the spread of Covid 19. I despair sometimes, I really do.
