When I checked the back of the dress in the mirror, I remembered why I'd only worn shoes with it before; it plunges so low at the back it was just as well I'd chosen screaming red lacy knickers and that they looked like part of the outfit. The concession to *cough* modesty was to be wearing the sexy little sequin bolero jacket but it isn't long enough to cover the corset-laced plunge to the derriére. The pub was full of football fans as usual but we don't get a reaction from them any more, they've got used to our sartorial games, including M le Debonair bon plus wearing white tie, top hat and cane to watch football and play poker back in February.
Bit of a chat and a drink, given a warning not to chat up any of the young priests this time; then we walked very sedately round to the Westminster Cathedral Hall. Sedate was mostly on account of the Charles Jourdan (what a name dropper!) 5 inch platform heels which don't mix well with uneven pavements but are necessary to avoid having the frock sweep the street as I go. We collected a few compliments and had a bit of a laugh on the way when some seriously impressed girls asked us where we were going. Mark, with aplomb, said "McDonald's". Walking back after the cabaret earned me a skinned knee but I was by then anaesthetised enough not to bother with feeling foolish.
We were expected, and expected to be massively overdressed, so were given a ringside table and Kevin (the promoter) got us to stand up while he declared he expected everyone else to come up to 'these' dress standards for the next one. Lynn always goes for audience involvement and picked on Mark as one of her targets while singing "I want a Man", askiing "are you experienced" of random chaps. Mark said he was 'getting there' and I nearly choked on my wine when she ponted the microphone at me and asked if it was true. However, he was upstaged by Father Michael (84!) pleading the fifth. We dallied too long about the volunteer chorus bit so Father Michael was in there as the third man, and I'm sure Mark cheated on the coin toss so I was the third woman. We are waiting with interest to see if the filming (oops! I'd forgotten they were filming!) makes it to her website. I might not have made any rude gestures if I'd remembered.
Before I forget, Paul had brought the shorts round just as I started getting ready and Alex had this to say when I told him I was going out:
Where are you going?
To a concert.
Is it far away?
Yes, it's in London.
Will you be back tonight?
No, but I'll be back tomorrow.
Where will you sleep? (this one in an alarmed and accusing tone)
At my friend Mark's, you remember Mark?
(doubtfully) ye-es
A few minutes later, Alex declared, very seriously I scribble scribble scribble (four year olds talk like that sometimes)
What?
I think scribble scribble shut.
After a few minutes we worked out he was telling me he thought the concert was going to be shut. His sister flirts massively, and he has already learned to dissemble charmingly, they'll be terrifying when they grow up.
Managed to catch up with Sid on Friday, the great book exchange expanded to my having to pop round on my way to Woking (TWO hours each way on the M25) to pick up baggins1, and leave baggins2. I found out later that this was all in aid of his scheming to present me with a scintillating red sequinned bottle cover, raspberry vodka encased. He knows me well. Also a retro Libra mug which describes me rather well under 'if born with stars ill placed'. To quote,
"they shall oft be drunken & oft desire Lechery, and use fleshly lust oftentimes and all the vain pleasures of the world".Actually, 'stars well placed' says much the same, though I'm not too sure about "a very gay lover". However Librans are the best lovers ;)
Returning in the evening to pig out on an Indian takeaway, I picked the dark and gritty film to watch first, Children of Men; a cross between Threads and any future apocalypse film. Amusing to see Michael Caine as an aged hippie, hooked on strawberry flavoured ganja, and Pam Ferris with an eyebrow ring and messy dreads. Then I insisted we watched La Cité des Enfants Perdu in the original French though I admit to reading the subtitles too. Great film, very weird, but I like odd films. At least Mon Mome winning the National let me recognise the french word for kids when they used it.
Past midnight again, I keep finding draft blogs I forgot to finish or, like this one, start and stop it so often the timestamp is all wrong. Me and time; mmmmmm. Loving looking at the thing I bought this afternoon on my way to a scrumptious pub lunch, maybe I should get Mark something else for his birthday and keep it for myself. Also saw a something to get Sid, but both birthdays are months away.
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