The strains of ‘Daddy’s Gonna Buy Me a Bow-Wow’ crackled out of the speakers.

The woman bent over, showing navy blue school knickers, pulling them away from her body. The men all shouted in satisfaction as the pink slit was revealed. George looked around him in wonderment. He was surprised to see another drink in front of him and drank from it greedily, smacking his lips together as he had seen the warehouseman do.

His eyes never left the stage now as the woman began undressing, the men cat calling and whistling. She walked over to their tables and, grinning, sat on one of the warehousemen’s laps, her legs spread. She gently rubbed herself up and down his legs. Then, undoing her side buttons, she let her tunic top fall to the floor. Her large baggy breasts sprang free and she pushed them into the man’s face. George was enthralled.

Getting up, she pulled the navy knickers up her belly, so the lips of her vagina poked out of the sides, then gradually she began to pull them down, her eyes roaming over the men as she did this as if it was a personal show for each of them.

Then the music stopped, the lights went off and she was gone, amid clapping, whistling and stamping of feet.

Next was a female impersonator. A few tables away was a crowd of young men on a stag night. They had been served chicken and chips in baskets and the man on the stage, his face garishly made up under a deep red wig, walked to one of the young men and said: ‘Here, love, do you know the difference between a big cock and a chicken leg?’

The boy went red and shook his head, his friends roaring with laughter. The man put his arm around him and said, ‘Want to come on a picnic?’

George laughed as hard as the rest of them. He was amazed to find that he now had three separate drinks in front of him. Peter caught his eye and winked and George felt sudden affection for him, his usual annoyance forgotten. Peter had arranged this and George would remember that to his dying day. He was where he should be. Among men who liked what he liked. Who saw women for what they really were.

The female impersonator was finished and another stripper came on. Peter Renshaw called to the impersonator and he walked over to their table in a parody of a woman’s wiggle.

‘Hello, Peter, how are you?’

‘All right, Davey. We’re on a leaving do. How much for the live show?’

The impersonator grinned.

‘Same as usual, Peter. You do the whip round and I’ll sort out the girls. Don’t forget my drink on top, will you?’

Renshaw grinned. ‘Good man.’

The impersonator laughed. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Come on, lads, get your dosh out, we’ve got ourselves a live show.’