With my diary filled to the brim before my trip to Dublin with the Sydney Convicts, I set out upon on what I thought would be a fun-filled weekend.

First port of call was Friday at the Colombian Hotel, where I bring a little sparkle and glamour to the early-evening punters.

I have a show upstairs at midnight, so you can usually find me swishing around both levels from 8pm. While practising my spins on the bottom level I was swiftly passed by up to 15 police and sniffer dogs.

Now to be honest, one part of me thought, Shit, just what we need, another raid on Oxford St, but another part of me thought, Well, at least the police are out, so I will be able to feel safe.

Then I was going to head to the Burdekin to do a surprise performance at a farewell party for a good friend. Straight off stage, I exited the Colombian, hoping with a little luck to walk straight into a cab. After 20 minutes of waiting, 20 phone messages to party organiser Angela and even more shit coming out of the straight passersby, I decided to hit plan B: if I walked with a group of gay boys to Slide, maybe they would agree to escort me the short distance further.

Unfortunately I was out of luck and had to brave it myself. By the time I got to the Brighton Bar I’d had abuse hurled at me, drunken girls screaming and tossing glass bottles on the road, and groups of straight boys barging into me -¦ yet not a policeman to be seen.

Fast-forward to Saturday night, 9.30pm, which I would consider quite an early hour. I do my usual security hop, I get ready at the Midnight Shift, then via the security of the Colombian Hotel I make my way to Tandoori Palace to my gig.

I only got called faggot once. I thought the chap was just reminding me who I was so I thanked him politely for the refresher.

Leaving the venue only an hour later for my return journey, I made it past Crown St where I was confronted by a group of about 20 young straight guys and comments such as you’re fucking revolting, you all should die, fucking filth and you should be taken out, makes me sick. Fearing for my safety, I quickened my step and headed straight into the Midnight Shift. The manager on duty called the police -¦ only to get a message bank. In fact the whole evening I saw no police.

I thought things were supposed to be getting better. Since when did sniffer dog raids on venues improve the safety of gays and lesbians on Oxford St?

Seems all we got was a Band-Aid for a couple of months before things went back to the way they used to be.

We need to see police patrolling the strip. As things stand now I can smell the trouble brewing yet again.

If bashings aren’t enough to get police patrolling the strip instead of sniffer dog patrols, then what tragedy will it take this time?

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