Limpalong Cassidy

HE CAME out sheathed in white, like a tape worm. For someone whose primary appeal is physical he’s surprisingly clumsy, graceless. Constipated bumps and grinds. Wiggle your bottom at the front row, everyone squeal! David’s so little, so young, that his tight crotched cat suit (red vine curled lovingly round his arse) seemed cosy, a new line in ladybird pyjamas. Plain-voiced, no range of tone or emotion; just sing loud or soft and always too close to the mike so it’s all distorted anyway. The children’s party show-off. David played piano (elementary), guitar (intermediate) and drums (advanced). He glowed with pride but he seemed uncertain.