Dear Kim...
I thought I'd write you a review of mine and Joanna's recent night out at Prohibition at the Bloomsbury Ballroom...
I'm at the back somewhere...
Yes, the very same Prohibition that we were prohibited from fully sampling a few winters back; when I left home believing my steadily increasing achy limbs were the result of the Cindy C. Workout I'd lunged & star-jumped through the day before - only to find on arrival at the Bloomsbury Ballroom cloakroom that the aforesaid aches had surged upwards to my 'ead; and by the time we'd got to the bar, I had an overwhelming urge to puke into the bartender's cocktail shaker. So back we toddled to the B.B cloakroom to retrieve our
Awwwh, such a shame! And you were such a fab friend that night!
So I went there with the best-est of intentions of taking plenty of glamorous photos for you - so you could see what you'd previously missed out on; the beaded dresses - a - twinkling, and the ropes of pearls-a-twirling; of Joanna & I languorously sipping cocktails from teacups...
So I'm truly-very sorry, Kimmy, because all I managed to capture throughout the entire night, was this photo of my foot n' shoe... taken whilst sat on the bog...
For some reason, I found the pair of discarded tights profoundly intriguing in my gin-induced state.(??) And also the feathers bereft of its boa - infact the amount of feathers wafting about the venue made me titter - they stuck to the heels of your shoes; it was as if a gigantic Jazz Cat had been let loose amongst the pigeons.
So what do you think of my new dancing shoes?! My poor old faithfuls - the gold lace-ups, (which you've donned on the dancefloor yourself one or twice!) just had to be hung-up for good; they'd become so very scratch'ed & scuff'ed... sniffle...
But my new ones - although slightly higher and thinner in the heel, are tremendously comfy and danceable - yippie!
But back to my review... Now, I don't know if it's down to the fact that I've now attended quite a-lot of vintage events, and I'm starting to feel slightly jaded, but I couldn't help feeling that Prohibition was nowt more than a room full of people playing at dressing-up. And yes, I know that's exactly what it always boils down to at vintage nights - we're all just dressing up! But it lacked the atmosphere of Blitz Party - where we felt transported back to the 40's; and it didn't have the authenticity of The Rivoli, where folk are truly passionate about the era, the dancing and the music. And that was partly where the fault lay for me - the music. I don't like to be pernickity; the band were fab - gave it their all, but they didn't play music solely from the 20's and 30's. And then when the DJ started laying down the tracks in the later hours - there was lashings of Doo-whop and 50's rock 'n roll - which I love! But not what you're expecting when surrounded by flappers. Not that it stopped us from having a right ol' boogie, heheh - no way! We danced so much my big toe-nail fell off - ha ha! It was a very bruised toe-nail that was attached only at the edges - a lovely new nail was already half-grown underneath. I've decided to keep the old bruised nail as a holy relic; of St Lynsey, the patron saint of shimmying...
Must say - the cocktails were top-notch!
Lynsey left not a drop of Leffe
And the best part of the night...? The 3am visit to a Macdonalds Drive-Thru - cheeseburger meal pleeeease!
Apologies once again, Kimmy - was meant to be a post brimming with glamour, and all I've provided is toilets & toe-nails.
To make it up to you, here's a wee Charleston lesson to make you smile - I love the humour - these chaps have got very happy feet! (I especially love the Scarecrow Charleston) xx
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