JAZZ HANDS!

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 cloaks coats, and caught a carriage taxi back to mine. (Did we even see the ballroom..?)
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

The Cure & Smiths Special...

                                                          I would go out tonight - 

                                           But I haven't got a stitch to wea-a-a-r...!

Dear Kim....

The above wasn't true! Recently, Fleur, Natasha & I did indeed go out, and we were wearing clothes & everything...

We went for a boogie at The Attic - the wee bar/club venue at the very top of Hackney Picturehouse. It was a Cure & Smiths night - back-to-back hits of both groups played into the small hours, which was sheer heaven; we were Caterpillar Girls, we were Love Cats. We moved like Cagey Tigers on the dance-floor. It was an unhesitating Friday night, and we were in love...!

                                          Wonderfully-wonderfully-wonderfully pretty
                                                                  (And sweaty)

                                                                     Pictures of Us

Fleur and Natasha were so overwhelmed by all the Morrissey & Robert Smith serenading that they toppled off their velvet poufs... (Note to Hackney Attic; poufs are probably not the most ideal seating for folk who've had a drink or two... or three. )

On leaving the premises after four non-stop hours on the dance-floor, (the grand finale song being Paul Simon's Call Me Al, where all - including the bar staff -  threw their best  worst Ladysmith Black Mambazo dance moves. ) Fleur donned a pair of 3D glasses left outside one of the cinema screens, and she and Tasha did their worst  best Bono and Patsy Kensit impersonations...

                                         Bono & Patsy; backstage Zooropa Tour 1994

                                              "I've never met this woman before in my

                                                                  life", insists Bono...

"We are humans and we need to be loved"

says Bono & Patsy

Kababs at dawn...

                                       Go-on, take a big bite, it's such a gorgeous sight,

                                            to see you eat, in the middle of the night!

We then slipped through the streets while everybody sleeps, and went back to mine...

                                                           I've waited hours for this,

                                                           I've made my self so sick...

                                             (Fleur performing an exorcism on Tasha..?)

 You get points for naming all The Cure/Smiths songs I quoted from...!

Oh pointy birds...

Dear Kim...

                                                            Oh pointy birds,
                                                            Oh pointy, pointy,

                                                            Anoint my head,
                                                            Anointy-nointy.

Yet another belated post! As I'd meant to relay to you that on the 6th of May, it was International Dawn Chorus Day...

Along with feasting my eyes on bluebells, the sounds of the Dawn Chorus is another seasonal treat I look forward to in the month of May.
I seem to have developed my own personal birdie-body alarm clock over the past few years, because as May approaches, I naturally rouse from my slumbers around half past five, and with sleepy eyes half-closed, and a wide-open bedroom window; I listen to the crescendo as it grows in intensity without...
It kicks-off with the melancholic trills of the blackbirds; their winter oaths of silence now broken. And while I can't lay claim to knowing by ear all other birds' personal warbles, I do know by sight which birds live in the vicinity, so the T. Street Birdie Choir is made up of the local robins, song thrushes, tits, green finches, gold-finches, chaffinches, and of course the ubiquitous pigeons... Oh, and the local squirrels telling them all to shut their beaks, cuz they're trying to get some sleep...! Oh, and an unidentifiable bird that sounds like a car-alarm... No, sorry, it actually is a car-alarm...  No-no, it's a bird that's lived in the inner city for so long, it's learnt to imitate a car-alarm...  

I think dawn is such an enchanting time of day, and is especially precious to those of us who reside in cities - as it's potentially the only time of the day (or indeed night) that the incessant inner-city hullabaloo is at a minimum. To be awake at dawn makes me feel all 
pre-industrial-ish; all Lark Rise to Candleford-ish... (And neanderthal-ish... heheh)

The sounds of my local Home Boyz  Birdz, perched in the few trees that line the streets, is akin to my own private chamber concert.  My future aim is to sit in a wood at dawn one May - now surely that would be akin to a symphony orchestra playing at the Royal Albert Hall!

Apparently, the reason for the birds putting on such a show, is to defend their territory and attract a mate through their vocal compositions.  But I can't help believing that it's also a birdie hymn to the joys of the coming day... In-fact, if we were able to translate their song, I reckon it would be close to the words of the Anthony song below. (Maybe Anthony did translate the dawn chorus; p'raps Anthony is indeed a Bird Whisperer... it really wouldn't surprise me...)

          


Furthermore on the birdie-front, last week I had a chaffinch attacking  the smaller window in the front room; it repeatedly banged into the window, and ferociously pecked at the glass with it's beak...!  Fearing for its life, I googled 'chaffinch behaviour', and apparently both chaffinches & robins are infamous for warring with windows; they believe they're attacking a rival bird, when it's in-fact their own reflections they're desperate to peck the eyes out of... Silly dickie-birds!   

I also had a Greater-spotted Woodpecker visit my bird-feeder - whoop-whoop! I've seen it now on two occasions... The first time, it swooped onto the birdfeeder, then dived into the nearest tree where it assaulted a poor defenseless wood pigeon - just for the fun of it! -  then off it sped on further raids...

P'raps one May, I'll no-longer be able to contain myself on the bird-front. Like St Francis in the scene below, I'll be on the roof of the flats in my jim-jams, flapping away; with all the chavs hanging out of their windows, shouting; "What ya doin' ya friggin' nutter..! Someone git that weirdo off-a the roof, innit!"

Birthday shenanigans at the Rivoli Ballroom

Birthday Shenanigans at the Rivoli Ballroom 

Dear Kim...

A most belated post!  Last month, Fleur, Joanna, Cheryl (Fleur's chum) and I donned our dancing shoes and headed to the Rivoli Ballroom to celebrate Glenny's birthday...

Oooh, the tree matches my dress...

I'd forgotten just how much I love the Rivoli - such a special , atmospheric place.  I think I haven't been for some time because it's quite a trek to get to.  But this time round, we were kindly driven there & back by the lovely Joanna (who detests public transport!) Oooh, the naughty trio in the photo above were swigging beers whilst Jo-Jo manned the sat-nav...!

Here's Glen and his two leading ladies!  It was fab to see Glen again.  He's still got the moves - as does his Ma. I was most impressed when she led a sort of 40s line dance (??) where half the club were hot-stepping to the left, and then to the right... and then a twirl - all in unison. (Whereas I was hot-stepping to the right, and then to the left...) 

Scouting for Girls... Heh heh.


There was scrumptious choccie birthday cake to eat...!

Glen wish-making...

Which was just what was needed after all that boogie-ing...!

Fleur had quite a few spins on the dance-floor, as did Jo-Jo... My personal favourite move of the night consisted of Cheryl balancing me on one hip and flinging me into the air - she was truly my Brendon Cole!

Again-Again!

Then the beers and the sugar rush of the choccie-cake kicked in, and our attempts at swing dancing were left at the way side...

Swinging Rocking out...!

Sexy Shoulders...

I'm definitely in dire need of some more of those swing lessons we embarked on many a moon ago.  Because whereas in my wee head, I'm as fantastic a dancer as these fabulous ladies...

In reality, my attempts at dancing through the eras (Do you remember our Charleston lesson??) are more akin to the efforts below... (Which I might add, are still fab-u-lous!)

The 1st two dances are you & I at Prohibition and Blitz Party; the 2nd two are when I've moved on to B.G.W.M's Club with Fleur...

The truth is - as you know very well about me, Kim! - free-style/expressive dancing is much, much more my thing...

This is the sort of dancing I do on a daily basis; mainly around the house - to Gabriel's bemusement (He recently said "And this is why I don't bring friends home" when I was  throwing some moves to Pass the Dutchie), or, if Valdo's at home, he'll just totally avert his eyes and avoid looking in my direction - as though to do so would turn him to stone - I'm a dancing Medusa, I am! 


Ooooh, this could easily be us when we attended B.G.W.M's Club night ; 'Cheesy Pop & Nineties Bop'...

I'm ashamed to admit that I actually owned a pair of lycra cycling shorts as above... Yep, I was about twelve. And my thighs weren't as shapely as Jens; there was nothing for my cycling shorts to cling to - they hung off my femurs like boxer-shorts

Must try and get some swing lessons done&dusted pronto, as Joanna & I are going to Twinwood Festival this Summer, and if I don't re-find my dancing feet, I'll be hiding out in the cabaret tent...   

Dear Kim....

On Bank Holiday Monday, myself & my lads went for a stroll through one of my favourite haunts, Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park. It truly is a special place; a veritable Eden, flanked on all sides by tower blocks & council estates - though once immersed within its ivy draped depths, you really can imagine yourself far removed from inner city London...

To my delight, the bluebells were out in force, mingling with a profusion of other wild flowers; creeping buttercups, chickweed, clover, forget-me-nots, cowslips & cow parsley...

 The three of us were lounging on this bench, enjoying the sunshine, when a fox appeared through the trees; ambled across the clearing before us, utterly unfazed by our presence. And what a beauty it was; this was no mangy-tailed Crack Fox...

No-no-no, this was of the Beatrix Potter variety; bushy tailed & bright copper coated - resplendent against the greenery. Off it sauntered along a trail though the gravestones... 

A walk through the cemetery park never fails to instill a sense of tranquility within me; quelling all anxiety, yet thrilling me with the sights of each passing season. And as I'm currently re-reading Flora Thompson's memoirs of her rural childhood, Lark Rise to Candleford; the following lines, when Flora stops to gaze upon the natural world around her, resonates with me;

                    A wave of pure happiness pervaded her being.... And deeper
                    down, beneath the surface of her being, was the feeling, rather
                    than the knowledge, that her life's deepest joys would be found
                   in such scenes as this.

Ophelia-esque

The pictures interspersed between my own floral offerings are of the beautiful bloggers, the Bright Young Twins, who are dressed exactly as I would have done - if I'd been brave enough - in my late teens/early twenties, when at the peak of my Pre-Raphaelite phase... If I were to dress as such now whilst frolicking around the woods, I'd probably look more akin to a character from this Mighty Boosh ditty, then a Pre-Raph. damsel... 

  

Oh, bluebells, bluebells... If I fail to look upon a patch with each coming May, is always a May wasted...

All these thoughts on nature, and the passing of time, and the purest of pleasures - the joy found in the natural world, brings to mind a scene from my favourite film...

Lots more nature inspired posts to come with the (fingers-crossed) clement months...!

Dear Kim...

Last Friday, I had the honour of meeting a teeny-tiny little chap, Master Oscar Moth...

Hands big & small...


He really is the cutest little munchkin, and Mamma Laura is  evidently exceedingly loved up . Oscar slept pretty much the whole time on our meander along the South Bank, only rousing for a guzzle  from his bottle and a resounding burp, then back to slumbering against his beloved Mama...

He's got Laura's little chin & pouty lips, don't you reckon..?  We had a wee titter over his abundance of red hair. "He might grow up to look like Chris Evans!" Mamma Laura exclaimed tenderly...

"That wouldn't be the end of the world", said I, "Chris is witty, funny, charismatic"... Mamma Laura wasn't convinced...  "Well, red-heads can be sexy & brooding - think  thespian Toby Stephens", soothed I...

Uncannily, my favourite male red-head of all time is Oscar Hopkins, the ethereal, carrot-topped character from Peter Carey's novel 'Oscar & Lucinda', beautifully portrayed by Ralph Fiennes in the film adaptation...

Ever more uncanny, Oscar Hopkins's best friend in the novel is called Wardley-Fish...

It was a lovely introduction, on an equally lovely sunny day.  Hoping to see them both again soon - whenever Laura's cabin-fever sets in, I told her to pop over to mine for a change of scene.  Oooh, I bet you can't wait to meet him!!

Dear Kim...

Echoing your frequent posts from the South American sea-side; Sunday 28th April, Gabs & I boarded the train to good ol' Brighton for a breath of ozone. Much compulsory seaside diversions were undertaken; a stick of Brighton rock was crunched, ice-creams were licked, pebbles were skimmed, the horizon was gazed at, the pier was meander'd, sandwiches were slyly consumed under the interrogating eyes of seagulls patrolling the beach; "I know what you've got in that bag, prawn sarnies, M&S ones, no point tryin' to hide 'em, got a whiff of 'em all the way from Hove, we did.... Giv'z a bit..." 

Member of the Brighton Inquisition

Gabs dragged me into the arcade on the pier... Eeeek, me-no-like-it-in-there.  I feel rather sorry for my kids at such times - I'm the antithesis of my own parents. Whereas they'd generously supply my sister and I with a tupper-ware box full of 1ps, 2ps and 10ps for hours of gambling in the arcade at Butlins; I, however, squirm & shudder to hand over copper&silver to my own kids in such places of vice... Heh heh. (And three whole British pounds for a go on the dodgems, indeed! More squirming & shuddering...)

A fistful of pebbles, not pennies...


Gabs was aghast whilst lobbing pebbles, to be confronted by the sight of the rather plump lily-white bottom of a girl - no more than nine/ten years of age - frolicking in her birthday suit in the surf beside us. "Urgh", recoiled Gabs, "That really is too much!" he exclaimed, turning his back resolutely on the mini 'Birth of Venus'... His disdain was on par with the stylists in the F.& S's sketch below...

And as you're always posting such  a wealth of street art on your blog, here's one I thought you'd like  staring out from a wall in Brighton...

'Stop & Stare'