The London drag club was not in the least CD, sorry seedy. The audience was quite sophisticated and the ambiance friendly and gay (in the original sense of the word). The artists were top of the range. They were not only beautiful but very talented as well. If some of them wore skimpy costumes that was not the only thing they had to offer. However, the star of the evening could not be accused of wearing skimpy attire, nor was “she” young and beautiful. The only way to describe the “Baroness” was outrageous.

The outrageously camp appearance contrasted very effectively with the perfect, and no less outrageous, aristocratic accent and demeanour (most of the time). The act was a very political one. From the pretended point of view of an old school aristocrat the “Baroness” skewered the political and societal establishment from left to right, from top to bottom, many of them in the audience. The “Baroness” was an equal opportunity skewerer. Many in the audience came only for the political insights the “Baroness” provided, even if often at their own cost.

When the applause finally faded away the “Baroness” went into “her” dressing room and changed clothes and wigs before leaving for “her” rented room. There “she” changed again to go to “her” “day-job”. Not only the building on the Thames was absolutely Gothic (well, Gothic Revival), but so was the working hours and conditions there. On the way to her job “she” once again lamented to “herself” that “she” had been born a half-century too early. Had “she” been 20 instead of 70 “she’d” come out. Now? Now it was too late, “she” once again concluded. Oh, life had not been that bad. “Her” marriage had been out of convenience rather than passion but they had become very good friends. “Her” children had turned out well. They knew about “her” and had stated that they’d support “her” if “she” decided to take the step. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren had not been told. Maybe they knew, maybe they didn’t. Still, “her” life had always had this dark shadow over it. The shadow of pretending to be someone “she” wasn’t. The pain of not being “herself”. Yes, “she” could come out now but so many people would be hurt. Besides, the “Baroness” had been steeped in a culture of Duty Above All. Noblesse Oblige the “Baroness” thought with an ironic smile. Then there was the risk that much of what “she” had achieved over the last half-century would be tainted. At the age of 70 there was little to be gained and much to be lost. Especially since the quirks of the society “she” had been born into, and raised in, allowed “her” to do some good for another ten, twenty or possibly thirty years more. Who knows, in twenty years’ time coming out might be a net gain for the cause? Unfortunately, that was not the case at present. “She” could live with that. “She’d” done that for 70 years, what was another decade or two?

“She” got out of the car at the Palace of Westminster and passed security. To avoid the eager, talented, obsequious and obnoxiously ambitious young aides, the “Baroness” took refuge in one of the many bars. There “she” was found by a young man.

“Milady, they are waiting for you.”

“She” finished “her” drink and with a sigh Lady Victoria, Countess suo jure, the only peeress out of the 90 hereditary peers in the House of Lords, minister of state, strong advocate for the rights of women and LGBT+ (not that there had been that many letters at first), pillar of society, the very model of a modern aristocrat slowly made his way.

With an ironic afterthought the Countess reflected that the only true presentation of himself was on the stage in that drag club: A man, dressed up and pretending to be a Lady.