Fridae

You have just made your Entrance (with a capital E) into the hottest gay club.

Thousands of eyes immediately locked onto you with the intensity of a Star Destroyer's tractor-beam.

You puff up your gym-tortured chest for maximum effect and your leather-cased butt starts to gyrate unconsciously to tunes belted out by reigning disco-parakeet Kylie.

Keenly aware of the importance of good lighting, you glide your way regally to the most flattering section of the crowded bar and order your vodka. With your elbow resting on the counter (while simultaneously flexing your biceps for full effect), you size up the scene with one grand sweep - immediately scoping out where the cute guys are and mentally marking the whereabouts of those skeletons in your closet you have no wish to bump into for the rest of the night.

Despite the disco lights that would disorientate even Stevie Wonder and the sea of swaying homo-bodies, your gaydar starts to home in on your prime catch-of-the-night who is returning your eye-lock with a suggestive smile. Embolden by the reciprocal interest, you place your empty glass on the bar and as you turn around to move in on your kill, you find yourself face-to-face with Quasimodo's clone who's angling for an intro.

Welcome to the dark dank world of the Bar Trolls.

Ask any gay man who has ever ventured into a gay club, and you're sure to be regaled with stomach churning tales of a troll encounter (or if the gay man in question could give Orlando Bloom a run for his money, an entire night's worth of encounters).

While the gay club has traditionally been regarded as the best place for meeting eligible gay men in the flesh and for rubbing against a crush of pulsating hotbods and hotrods, they are, unfortunately, also the favourite hunting grounds of Bar Trolls.

Hanging around the darkened corners of the bar, Bar Trolls are the gay equivalent of the grisly Orcs from Tolkien's Middle-Earth minus their commando-like physiques. Usually over-the-hill (bald patches and paunches optional), Bar Trolls come complete with their impure thoughts engraved over their leering faces and are cursed with an ability to repel even the most charitable of gay souls. Worse, most Bar Trolls have cultivated a resilience and determination that would overshadow even Victoria Beckham's persistent attempts to crack the charts.

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And their favourite activity? Preying on inexperienced green homos on their first night out at the club or chatting up gorgeous gay men with more enthusiasm than a telemarketer in the hope of landing themselves a date or a tumble in the bedsheets.

When confronted with a Bar Troll, any gay man's first reaction would be to shoot him a "if looks could kill, you'll be a corpse by now" look, snub him completely or for the more volatile sisters - deliver a resounding slap to the creature's face. The reaction is understandable - besides blocking your view of the prime meat on display, the Bar Troll would prove to be a sure-fire damper on any carnal caper you may be planning for the night. Worse, he is a rep-wrecker and any unfortunate gay man seen chatting with a Bar Troll would find his social currency sinking faster than a Titanic full of Kate Winslets.

However, this being homoland, there's a good chance that the Troll you dodge or offend tonight could well be your job interviewer or your business client tomorrow. So while you have to get rid of your Bar Troll fast, you would also have to do it with much finesse and tact.

To spare many a gay man from suffering similar indignities, yours truly has generously decided to dispense some foolproof advice on how to single-handedly dispatch Bar Trolls without having to resort to what Sharon Stone and Isabelle Adjani did to their abusive partner in that lesbian flick Diabolique.

First things first, if he has bought you a drink, accept it with a polite "thank-you". If he proceeds to introduce himself, say "hi" but never ever tell him your name or if you have to, give him an obviously fake one such as Frodo, Mary Magdalene or even Chewbecca. Remember, while you should be polite, don't flirt or smile, or you'll never lose him.

Secondly, don't let him corner you. Maneuver yourself into a position that will allow you to always stay on the outside so you can do a David Copperfield and disappear into the crowd quickly when he turns around to order a drink for you or talk to his swarm of Bar Troll pals. However, should you find yourself cornered with no avenues of escape, keep scanning the room so that he gets the "subtle" message that you're looking for a much much better piece of ass to haul home that night than what he's offering.

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Should this fail, let out a blood-curling shriek when the new Moby mastermix comes on and excuse yourself by saying that you promised to dance to it with your friend (even if you're obviously alone) and head on down to the dancefloor faster than Flo Jo on tracks.

Any of the above recommendations should allow you to lose your typical Bar Troll fast. But in the unlikely event that you are confronted with a Bar Troll with velcro-like abilities, you may have to throw tact and caution to the winds and adopt any of the following more extreme measures.

Extreme Measure 1: Put your Oscar-worthy skills to good use by pretending to be a dropout from the Betty Ford clinic and start downing martinis like there's no tomorrow or adopt your most outrageous poodle queen persona and start lip-synching to every disco diva song they play. Unfortunately, while these tactics may put off even the most desperate of Bar Trolls, they would also have the same effect on most of the other patrons in the club.

Extreme Measure 2: Employ your merciless wit (my personal favourite if I may say so) and cut the Bar Troll down to size. For those gay men without a sharp tongue or a trace of malice in their bodies (all five of you in the entire homoverse), here are some put-downs worth committing to memory:

"Inserting a white hot cow-prod up my perky ass would be far more pleasurable than another minute of your charming company."

"Pardon my abstracted expression. I'm trying to visualize you pinned under the wheels of a speeding truck."

"I cannot decide which is worse: having my hose hairs removed with a blow torch, or having to listen to your raunchy repartee."

(And not forgetting our lesbian friends: "I'll rather go play leap-frog with a unicorn than watch you undress me with your eyes.")

By now, any Bar Troll would surely get the message that you are so not interested. As a precautionary measure, you should still keep your gaydar on high troll alert for the rest of the night just so you don't bump into him again. With your troll threat out of the way, you can now hit the dancefloor and party the night away in peace.