August 16th, 2005

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.


Done with Edinburgh now. Simply done!

As for the Festival there, I quote a wee 10 year old English girl whom I overheard saying about a frozen, gold-painted mime on the Royal Mile: "Mummy, how can he get paid for being so boring?"

Mind you, Edinburgh itself is not boring. Besides being the most beautiful city I've ever seen (and I've seen a few) it is peppered with some annoyingly charming people.

Did I mention that my ex-wife made me the most fantastic birthday gift imaginable? She, and her worthy guitarist boyfriend, took a lunch hour off before my arrival, and threw down a jazz track of Night Ranger's "Sister Christian" which, although conceived in the spirit of high camp, actually turned out to be a very seductive and beautiful song. Night Ranger would turn over in their graves. If only they were dead.

Yah, if only.

Endless train ride to London on Sunday. Arrived chez Pablo once again too late to get any real liver damage done. Ran the inflatey-bed motor in the wee hours, much to Pablo's wincing as he doubtless pictured his dormant roommate turning over in his grave. (If only he were dead.)

Spent today with Ben at the Tate Moe-Dairn and walking around the South Bit o' thuh Thames.

Ended up at the Old Vic theatre where we saw The Philadelphia Story starring (blastmilk would pee) Kevin Spacey and Jennifer Ehle in the Kate Hepburn role. Brilliant play, obviously.

Theatre Thing: Why is it that 90% of American plays feature bad British accents, and when I go to the trouble of coming to Britain, the play I see features bad American accents? (Spacey and Ehle notwithstanding, of course.)

Off to tapas after, then back to the basement of the theatre which is a cozy bar. Exasperatingly Cute Bartender Boy tells us that Spacey just left with "a suspiciously young American actor boy." The bastard. He will be mine! (As well as the phantom American boy, if cute enough to qualify.)

Drinks, drinks and more drinks, the which whereat we attempted to come up with our: Drag name; Rapper name; Stripper name.

Mine, in that order: Flossie Bright; Thee Phunkee Phresh Prince o' Darkness; Waggow Acacia (you will recall your stripper name = first pet's name + first street lived on).

Ben wins the award for Drag Name: "Tina Diction."

Spending a few too many £'s, but fuck it.

Soon to be €'s, but hey, that's holiday.

Jolly plans for the next few days including Harrod's (because the of the shopping is never of the done!), SoHo, a Sleazy Sauna perhaps, and more Spacey-Stalking. (Or Ehle, for that matter. No one wears crème silk crêpe à la Hepburn like she.)

Hopefully a drinks-hook-up with Sue, the fantastic music P.R. duenna from Brixton whom we met in Scotland.

Thursday = Amsterdam…

Wait for it…