Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Swanning about

So somewhat caught off guard in the slow bit after the New Year shindig, yours truly gets dragged off to Swan Lake. Now this is not normally my cup of Camellia sinensis but there was an offer of a few glasses of bubbly in the sundried tomato belt of N1. I don't mind telling you that I needed it after finding out that bloody Daltry's got a gong in the NYOL. Why he can't stick to fishing and leave the rest of us to get on with it, beats me.

Whilst we're on the subject, I seemed to have missed my invitation to Holland's annual TV rockfest. I get in from the boozer to find my mum glued to the bloody thing because she wants to see Basement Jaxx. I'm just about to stick a size 9 Patrick Cox through the screen when Clapton appears. The man's never off the telly! Bring back Moira Anderson, I say.

Anyway, feeling fairly sociable after a bucket of Moet, I'm getting balleted-up . Needless to say, I'm a bit disconcerted when the show kicks off and the swans are all blokes dressed in hairy jimjams! Now call me old-fashioned but I thought ballet was all about posh birds in fluffy frocks having a bit of a prance. The next thing you know, Keira Knightly'll want to be a brickie. Having got over the shock, I managed remain awake for the remainder. I don't think I'm spoiling it for anyone if I tell you that the swan dies. That's culture done for another year...

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