The Blaine game

"He's like a god in a mortal body," added Hector Rodriguez. "I think he's just showing everyone there's nothing that man cannot do. He can do everything and anything."

Who's Hector talking about? Some explorer of great renown? A peace-making politician maybe? Some inventor of a life-saving product?

No, he's talking about David Blaine, who's stunning achievements include Staying in a Box for a Long Time, Staying in a Lump of Ice for a Long Time, and now: Staying Underwater for a Long Time.

The English have a long tradition of lauding magicians until one day we realise what arses they are, and turn against them overnight. You have to be an arse to become a magician. It takes a special kind of sociopath to sit up all night learning how to do stuff and then not tell anyone how you did it, with a smug grin on your face.

One by one, magicians have fallen foul of the British publics annoyance at not being told how it's done. Paul Daniels fell out of favour quicker than his original hair fell out of him. David Blaine went a similar way very quickly when Londoners were not impressed by his box-staying abilities. It wasn't even a proper trick, for heaven's sake!

Derren Brown must know he's on borrowed time. I think he'll squeeze one more series out of his "I'm much cleverer than you" mentalist act before people start saying "Yes, but you're a bit of an arse really, aren't you?" You mark my words.

I actually have a personal tranny-related story about David Blaine.

A few years ago I was just getting over a nasty relationship and just starting to find my feet as a tranny. I decided, last minute, to book a hotel in London and visit Trans-Mission all on my lonesome. The hotel I managed to get in to was the Tower Thistle, which sits directly on the Thames by Tower Bridge.

When I arrived at my room I was suprised to find that I'd managed to wangle one with excellent views of the river, and Tower Bridge itself. And there, on the other side of the river, framed neatly by one of the arches in the bridge, was David Blaine in his glass cage.

This was causing chaos on the bridge itself. People were slowing down to rubber-neck at the Twat-in-a-Box, and traffic was backed up way past the approach roads to the bridge. Little did I realise how it was going to affect my evening.

I got dressed and ready to go out, and went down to the main entrance of the hotel to wait for a cab. After about twenty minutes it became clear that none were coming. The traffic was so busy on the bridge approach road (which was also the access road for the hotel) that no cabs were bothering to come down.

So I decided to walk to a better vantage point for cab-hailing. This meant walking all the way along the bridge approach road. Which by now was basically a parking lot.

I pretty much became the second attraction for rubber-neckers on the bridge that night. The cat-calls rang in my ears all the way up to the main road junction, where I managed to hail a cab.

The cab driver actually said he'd not realised until I spoke that I was a bloke. Which did my confidence the world of good.

In fact, just the experience of walking along the bridge did wonders for my confidence too. It showed me that usually the worst that can happen for a tranny in a crowd is a few cat-calls and horn-beeps.

So, David Blaine helped me become the tranny I am today. I'm starting to believe Hector after all. Is there nothing that man can't do?