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So ashamed! That was great!
Readers' Wifes played a great set of standards and surprises, interspersed with some wonderfully eccentric cabaret. Kiki reunited with lovely Herb and did three blinding numbers (fuelled by swigs of Ganesh's Veuve Clicquot ) and we had several funeral processions, the half-naked and priapic pallbearers led in procession by a brass quintet.
Then there were the bizarre dancing matelots, Cholmondeleys and Featherstonehaughs together, in a mad, nightmarish crocodile across the stage. My favourite was the little black Mr Tumnus with his proud fauny tumescence, disporting himself round the dance floor.
Oddly, given the shameful premise, as I danced on the stage at the end and Ganesh flirted with the stern and sturdy bouncers, I looked out over the thronged and bobbing crowd in the Coronet and felt a part of something glorious, glimpsing a glimmer of this supposed gay community vibe.
Great night! Worth struggling into a straining kilt for. |
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