The Aveda boys and I meander our through towards Piccadilly Circus and more cake (Profiteroles are NOT cake!!), and gape at the price tags in the National Geographic store. Still, they do have some really cool furniture and Klum's superb photos...
Full price tickets for the matinee, and I'm so glad we're here. The production is remarkable, light hearted, and very, verrry good. 4 actors playing all 136 or whatever number of parts there, unsubtle references to pretty much all of Hitchcock's works, obviously deliberate gaffes, and moments of utter nonsense, somehow woven into the telling, staying true even as it takes on a life of it's own. Brilliant!!
I duly impress my harem (now expanded to one minus the benefit of Aveda's rosemary and mint, but then he's American) with Quaglino's before flooring them with Souk Medina's sultry, yet rowdy ambiance and promises of live belly dancing.... yet more red wine ensues (which regretfully has nothing to do with our {Vinod et moi} nautaki spells around the table), as do multitudes of platters, jangling of hips bells, undulating abs, and some sort of thingy in the far corner.... Vinod's casual reportage of "Oh, it's a male stripper" has Jan and me hustling. More some one's gamely buff boyfriend rather than Chippendale is my professional assessment as I leave Jan with the bevy of waitresses getting an eyeful. Our laughter gets more hysterical, the innuendo more regional, and I expand my vocabulary with some choice Hindi insults, even as Vinod and I trade heaving bosom a la Sridevi, and dhichkao Amitabh dance moves, while Aashish assures Dimple that he and I are divorced :p
Sunday to Saturday. An entire week of celebrating almost 39, 39 and gone 39. Surreal. Never has 39 looked better.....
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment