Brothers & Sisters,
I have read many posts on this illustriaous forum relating to the subject of "lifting", but until last Friday I did not imagine that I would have cause to relate to you my own experience...

The Indian Goddess (Mrs Troy) and I went to see the Irish comedian Dylan Moran at an inner-Sydney venue (the Enmore Theatre, for those of you who live in, or are familiar with, Sydney): it was one of our "once in about every three months nights out without the kids" occasions, and it was great to be back in the area we lived in prior to becoming mortgagees and moving to the suburbs.

I was wearing my Cornish National tank with Doc Martens, "Jackass" T-shirt and black flying jacket - much to the Indian Goddess' delight, as she loves me wearing a kilt (yeah, I know... I'm a lucky guy). Anyway, we arrived in Enmore 90 mins before the show, so we walk around looking for a place to eat & have a drink. I get a few comments, including a very sincere, "Wow, sexy" from a lovely lass, and admiring smiles from a couple of hardcore boys who can't have been older than 18, and one of whom was wearing a "Black Flag" T-shirt (brings a tear to an old punk's eye).

We finally settle on a pub (the Duke of Edinburgh), and order some food. I left the Indian Goddess in the beer garden waiting for the food to arrive, and made my way to the bar. While I was waiting to be served, a guy approach me, bent at the waist, and lifted the pleats of my kilt an peered underneath!

I tuned to him, glowering, and said, "Are you right there, PAL!", to which he replied, "Yeah, I'm just checking". I offered a few sage words of advice, along the lines that there was nothing that he needed to check, and that he would be well advised to keep his %*#@ing hands to his %*#@ing self! It was one of those "you could have heard a pin drop" moments, and the guy suddenly looked as if he was imagining what it would be like to get carted away in an ambulance and spend the next few months in rehabilitation. He beat a hasty retreat, and I received several words of encouragement from a few of the folks around me, including the bar staff.

The offender approached me again, offering his apologies and promising that it "wouldn't happen again". I told him that it certainly wouldn't &@*#ing well happen again, and that if it did, he would see what happened to the last **** who tried a stunt like that. I asked him why he was so interested in what underwear another man may, or may not, be wearing, and whether he would appreciated it if I pulled his pants down in the middle of the pub to "check" him. He replied that he wouldn't care at all, and that I could check with the bar staff to confirm. I should point out that he was very nervous at this stage and was simply trying to save face (perhaps figuratively and literally. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that that may be the case, but that most people have a bit of repect for themselves.

Apart form that, it was a fantastic night out, and I really think I handled the situation well.

Peace,

Troy