Birmingham impressions

 
Dear diary,
I came to Birmingham on Saturday. The main reason was that I wanted an ugly city I could take some dark photos of. Upon arriving, I walked through a very industrial and dilapidated area of the city, beautifully ugly I would call it later that night.
Since I thought I wouldn’t be able to take any photos on Saturday, I figured I’d go out. At the hostel, a bowling night was organised, and we went to what might possibly be the most heterosexual place on the planet, consisting of bowling lanes, pool tables, slot machines, all in a gigantic concrete island a bit away from the city. I fit in like a camel among coat hangers, as you would imagine. One of the hostel residents, an older man from New Zealand, kept on telling me how much I “looked like a girl” (I dismissed it and told him to get over it and that it was obvious he had never lived in a city). Luckily, some nicer people made up for so much ignorance and prejudice (though in a way, he was friendly (which is an odd thing to say about someone who sent a middle-aged Englishman my way to talk to me, under the impression that I was a girl)).

No hats allowed.
Something I noticed when going to a very straight Irish pub afterwards (after having been to a metal gig, something I really enjoyed) was that Birminghamese (?) people are not fond of hats, I was wearing my black hat, as there was a slight possibility of rain and I didn’t want to mess up my straightened pretty hair. The bouncer told me to take my hat off, I thought he just wanted to look at my gorgeous hair (understandably), but when I put it on five minutes later to hold my drink, he shouted from all the way at the door to take off my head. I assumed that the man had been molested as a child by someone with a hat. That was the only explanation that I could believe in.
Later that night, when some funny Birmingham woman decided to take me to a place for homosexualists such as myself, we passed a place where I noticed a label on the door saying “No hats allowed”. I stayed to watch for a second and the woman told me not to go in there, as it was a brothel. Maybe the prostitutes were also molested by a guy with a hat, I thought. But then again, getting molested was their job. So it was another place I wouldn’t have been welcome (not that I minded obviously, I may be frustrated at the moment, it’s not that bad yet).
Probably, the hat thing was for the CCTV cameras the English seem to love so dearly. I thought it was only London that was constantly being videotaped, but in Birmingham the same is true. Big Brother apparently cannot recognise me with the hat (though I’m sure he would: “he’s the blond guy with the shiny hat, the only one wearing one in this weird place!”).

Yesterday, I walked around a bit in this city and noticed that there are in fact two or three beautiful buildings in the city, which came as a shock, because all I had seen so far were remains of a dreary industrial city (which I loved).

On Wednesday or Thursday, I may go back to London, so this will have been a weird intermezzo. What I like about it, is that I am completely on my own, I know nobody here. I should do things like this more, maybe when I get my car or something, aimlessly wandering around.

Anyhow: this is the Timmy in his hat, reminding molested bouncers/prostitutes of their troubled pasts....