life is a cabaret....

As I might have mentioned before, I'm a proud patron of a wonderful burlesque cabaret show in Soho.  Produced by a dear friend of mine, Cabaret Roulette usually takes place once a month on a Wednesday night in the middle of Soho.  As a result, it's not very often that I can make it down to watch a show as it simply isn't practical.... but we made it down for the first birthday celebration last November, and on Wednesday last week, I was there to watch the second birthday show, featuring highlights from the show's second season.

It was brilliant.  Partly it is brilliant because it features some incredible talent who really seem to have their creative appetites whetted by a format that forces them to create something new specifically for the show with only a couple of months notice.  Mostly though, I think it is brilliant because I love seeing my friend totally in her element and with all these fantastically talented people buzzing around her in a show that she created and has made work.  I'm so proud of her.

You get all sorts of acts here: this month we had a mime, a singer of comic songs (and you can listen to Laurence Owen's brilliant take on the empowerment of Disney's women here, and you really should), a clown, performance dance and  - of course - a variety of burlesque acts, obviously including some classic nipple tassel swirling.

Frankly, what better way to spend a midweek evening?

[more photos from the night are here....by Rhinoa's Photography]

Believe it or not, I'm pretty sure that most of those barmen are gay... not that you'd know it from their faces there.  She hasn't even started pouring the carton of orange juice over herself yet, either.....

It's a great show, and I'm so proud to have a tiny role in making it happen.

king leer...

I spent a good twenty minutes today chatting to a friend I bumped into at work.  I was between meetings and had a bit of a gap, and I've been meaning to catch up with her, so bumping into her was great.

We stood where we met, on a link between two buildings, and had a good catchup.  As we were talking, standing to one side and out of the way of the human traffic bustling between the buildings, I gradually began to notice something: as people walked past us, a significant proportion of the men passing by looked my friend up and down; they actually leered at her. Just in passing, but leering nonetheless.

Now, this girl is in her mid-twenties and is blonde and is altogether lovely, in a wholesome sort of way, but she was dressed entirely appropriately for the office, wearing a mid-length skirt and a sensible blouse, and in no way was she courting this sort of attention.... other than being young and blonde and there.

She didn't seem to notice.  Perhaps she's used to it.  I was appalled.  It wasn't so much that people were looking, it's the fact that they looked and then they looked back to check her out in a horrible, lingering sort of way as they walked past.  Some of them looked at her, looked at me inquisitively, perhaps to see what kind of a guy would be talking to someone like this, and then went back for another look at her.

Seriously?  Do you ladies have to put up with all the time?  I mentioned this to another female colleague this evening, and she suggested we have a chat in the same spot tomorrow so I could tell her if anyone checked her out.  I *think* she was joking.

Honestly: the 1950s called and they want their employees back.... and I'm sorry to tell you that this sorry bunch ain't got no Don Drapers.

of recklessness and water....

Right.  Consider this a fair warning: what follows is not likely to be edifying.  If I tell you that I'm about to start this post proper with the phrase "I'm not a dirty old man, but.....", then you've probably got an idea of where I'm going.  If you read this, I fear that there is a very real chance that you are going to come out of this not only thinking slightly less of me, but that you might also feel a little bit soiled yourself.  I respect you, dear reader, and I very much value your good opinion.  If you're of a slightly delicate disposition, then I beg you - I beg you - to please look away now.

Still here?  Well, you've only got yourself to blame.

Ready?

I'm not a dirty old man, but this evening at the pool my better nature was sorely tested.   There I was, minding my own business as I slogged my way though my usual 50 lengths.  I went on some hill interval training with running club last night, and made a last minute decision to do a fourth lap after all, taking my total run up to something upwards of five-and-a-half miles... a decision that my aching muscles have been ruing more or less ever since.

About half way through, I swapped lanes as the pool got quieter and I had an opportunity of a lane to myself.  As I swam my first length in my new lane, I noticed the girl swimming in the lane that was now next to me.  It wasn't particularly that she was a girl of the female persuasion that caught my eye, especially.  Swimming is a form of exercise with few distractions, after all, so my mind tends to wander and take in all kinds of things around me.  Of either gender.   Anyway.  As she swam past me, I couldn't help but notice two things: firstly that this girl was fairly skinny, with the kind of belly that curved inwards as she pulled her way through the water and secondly that she was wearing bikini bottoms that were slightly too loose.

.... can you see where I'm going with this yet?

I tried not to look, I swear.  I really did.  But every time we passed each other in the pool, my eyes were drawn across under the water, as if by magic.  It was mesmerising.  I didn't actually see anything, but that isn't really the point.  I like to think I'm not a letch, but it's a little bit like when ladies wear a pendant on a long chain on their chest, and it's like a bloody fascinator, catching the eye and drawing it inexorably towards the cleavage.  Give us a bloody chance, for goodness sake!  It's like dangling a piece of string in front of a kitten: what do you think is going to happen?

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't particularly distressed by this swimmer.  After all, there are worse things to occupy the mind when you're swimming, and it definitely wasn't as bad as the time I was swimming behind a middle-aged lady in a slightly-too-tight and definitely-too-transparent turquoise swimming costume.  She was doing the breaststroke too.

*shudders*

This evening's spell was slightly broken when a tubby, bald middle-aged man got into the same lane as this girl and my attention wandered somewhat as I sought not to glance too closely as he swam by.  At that point too, I realised that I too have a stomach that curves inwards and a pair of swimming trunks that are probably slightly too loose.

....maybe I was displaying a little fascinator all of my own?

The mind boggles.  I got out of the pool soon afterwards, leaving the other swimmers to get their cheap thrills elsewhere.

Still here?  Slightly uncomfortable mental image lingering?  Well, I did warn you that this wasn't going to be edifying.