What are friends for?

In this MySpaceFacebook world where friends are hoarded and displayed like trophy heads I am constantly forced to ask the question above.

Particularly when they start telling people they have just met at parties in bookshops about embarrassing incidents from your teenage years...

Adam and I seem to be gorging on nostalgia at the minute. I think it's probably a sign of some sort of mid-life crisis - kind of worrying as it suggests an early death for both of us.

So thanks to Toby, here's a little more.

I was in the park with a girl and we were engaging in the kind of lengthy tonsil tennis that teens enjoy. She was a brave girl. At that time I had long greasy hair, didn't wash much - in fact I probably should have had a health warning stamped on my forehead. (Amazing what being in a band can do for a spotty, greasy kid!) Still we were engrossed and rather enjoying ourselves when shouts of Eurgh, Dirty, Eugh Look At That etc penetrated my love-scrambled teenage brain.

We parted, drew breath and received a volley of verbal abuse along the lines of Dirty Lesbian etcs. A group of blokes were shouting and gesticulating at us. They came closer in a vaguely threatening way. Then they stopped...

"I think that one's a bloke" said meathead no 1.

"Fuckin 'ell" said another.

They left.

So there you have it. I was mistaken for a lesbian.

I like to think it was a useful lesson for a white middle-class bloke to experience a bit of ignorant prejudice. But some of my mates just think it's bloody funny!