"Does his make up in his room, doused himself in cheap perfume"

There are many characters involved in & around World of Flash. Some are well known due to their frequent mentions (Reckless, Dream Girl, Temper Tantrum, etc) & some only make a fleeting appearance now & again. One of these peripheral figures is known as Not Right.

Not Right joined my company's payroll about 3 or 4 years ago after he & his folks moved up here from Crawley. He's a nice enough fella & he's often described as "harmless".
He's 27 years old & lives alone in a flat on one of the estates that surround the town.
To say he's something of a character would be like saying Darth Vader was a tad mean. His voice is frighteningly similar to that of annoying 80's puppet, Roland Rat. He comes across as a bit dim though I suspect that behind the fog that he inhabits, he is quite the intellectual. He's perhaps best described as a bloody good advert for not having that second or third joint.

At work he is the perennial figure of fun. I do have some degree of sympathy for him & have been often known to intervene when people go too far with the piss-taking. That said, one has to have a certain amount of common sense when working in the sort of environment that we do. It's a factory, primarily staffed by working class men who have grown up in this small town & hence have a very near sighted view of the world we live in. In a nutshell if you're lifestyle choices are different from the accepted norm then you're gonna come in for some flack. I'm not saying it's right but sadly it is the way of things.

Not Right has, over the years, given (usually willingly) the snipers a considerable amount of ammunition. Like how he spent New Year's eve at a party in a Norfolk nudist camp with his Mum & Dad. Like bringing in a Star Trek English-Klingon dictionary in to work & trying to teach people key phrases. Like how he has a distinctly unhealthy relationship with his mobile phone. I know none of it's really noteworthy but it was more than enough to set him apart from the others.

About a year or so ago, rumours started flittering around work about Not Right. He had been seen walking about his estate wearing women's clothes. Not long after that he would start coming into work looking his usual disheveled self but with the addition of eye make up that had obviously been slept in. Next up was his rather questionable decision to bring his "special" boots in to work "to show the lads". Thigh length, patent boots with 9 inch heels & 4 inch platforms.

Now it doesn't take Einstein to figure out that he's clearly trying express himself. His sexuality has never really been determined though he openly states that he is a virgin.

I feel the need here to point out that I am neither judging or condemning Not Right & the way he lives his life. It's one of the cornerstones of who I am that I fundamentally believe that everyone should be free to live their lives the way they choose to, free from prejudice & hatred. Obviously on the proviso that they or their actions do not harm others.

The most angry I ever got at Not Right was about3 years ago. Several of us had gone to the pub after finishing our last shift before Christmas. Whilst we were all making merry the jukebox had been kicking out some top notch tuneage*. Then it happened: The pull your ears off horror of Cliff Richard's "The millennium prayer" (for those of you lucky enough to have avoided hearing it, it's basically the Lord's prayer sung to the tune of "Auld lang syne") came creeping out of the pub's speaker system. This was followed by a chorus of assorted groans.
"Who the fuck put that on?" said I, in an out of character public display of aggression, "Come on. Who did THAT??".
Not Right was smirking.
"Not Right! Was it you?"
Not Right was now giggling like a small child being tickled
"You Fucker!" exclaimed I, I then proceeded to go into a lengthy diatribe about having consideration for people trying to enjoy themselves on a Christmas drink up free from crimes against music. Assorted colleagues oohed & aahed behind me "Wow, I've never seen Flash get angry before", "yeah, we know how to get him now", etc.
I later apologised to Not Right for the ferocity of my attack, explaining that I was drunk & perhaps subconsciously trying to publicly cement my position of the groups Alpha male.
Which he graciously accepted with phrase No.1 from the Not Right book of stock phrases; "Shit happens"
* I'm prone to accompanying friends to the jukebox, to dish out a friendly "nah, don't put that shit on mate, look how about that" or a "really?? you actually like that?". I know, you want to smack me about now dont'cha?

What's that? The point?
Oh yeah...

Not Right had a day off work (Wednesday, I think) because he'd had an E the night before, Daft twat. Not on a school night! Also this week his make up has been much more prevalent & with more of it.
All this time, I'd never seen him out in his finery.
Until Friday night.
There I am, sitting on this very chair, having a cruise down blog street when I hear a familiar voice: "Flash!"
I get up & go to the window expecting to see Not Right & sure enough, there he is.
Towering above his small female companion who is desperately imploring Not Right to hurry up (a skill that he has never acquired, I'm afraid). His special boots have propelled him skywards to shocking effect & I feel like he's far too close to me has I lean out of my first floor apartment's window. Close enough to see the full extent of the curiously applied mascara & the frankly odd lip stick, close enough to witness the "reshaped" hair & certainly close enough to see that my colleague Not Right really did look like a girl, albeit a 6 foot 6 leatherclad Bambi type girl. Think Gwyneth Paltrow meets Brian Molko.
"Cheer up Flash!" he calls up to me, well I no doubt look like I been petrified.
"I'm alright mate" I said & that was it, off he went.
Bless him, I thought as I sat back down, he seems happy. I still don't know what he bloody wanted though.

Then Yesterday, Nice & I had to call in on him at his flat as part of Operation Sex Drugs And Rock n' Roll Saturday Alldayer.
He came to the door looking ghastly, hair everywhere, panda eyes accentuated by the paleness of his shirtless skinny white torso & guess what? he's still tottering around on them bloody boots! His living room is an utter, utter disgrace. I really didn't take in the details of it but Freinds watchers may recall the apartment of the hot paleontologist that Ross dated. Yeah? Worse.
To (try) and put my serious head on here for a minute, I was genuinely scared in his presence. Fearful for what's going to become of this man. The most shocking part of his appearance was that he was shaking quite badly & his eyes darted around as if unable to achieve any kind of focus. His speech was muffled & slurred too.
Nice & I left, both shocked at what we'd seen.

So here's the thing; I'm worried. I've noticed that Not Right's drug intake has escalated recently & I know he recently re-mortaged his flat. I also know that the man I saw on Saturday morning looked ill. I fear that he's out of control. I may be wrong, he may well be having the time of his life & I've not seen the good stuff.
So should I intervene?
I feel like somebody needs to sit down with him & ask him if he is alright. To listen to what he has to say. To, if required, point out to him how the road he's currently traveling may not be the road for him & that it could lead to a very bleak place.
Should I be the one to do it? I worry that nobody else will.
Or should I just keep my nose out of his business? After all, it's not like I've ever had my house totally in order, is it?

I don't know what to do people, advice would be gratefully received.