Back at work after a hectic, but highly enjoyable, long weekend. Friday was the Scissor Sisters in Blackpool. The gorgeous ballroom was rammed with glammed up nutters drunk on glitter and lager. Support act Kiki and Herb confused a large part of the congregation but made Darren and I howl with laughter at their priceless Jewish-homo-retard humour. They are sick, irreverent and rude and we love them. We squeezed our way down to the front for the Scissor Sisters entrance at 9pm. A huge white curtain was erected over the stage with the SS logo projected onto it. Suddenly the lights were dimmed and there they were, silhouetted behind the curtain. The crowd went crazy, the curtain fell to the stage, the band blasted into ‘Laura’ and we hoped that the sprung dancefloor was meant to bounce like that. We watched a few more songs down at the front then retreated to the ballroom bar to watch the rest of the set with the other old gits.
We were already drunk when we stumbled into the after show party at Sugarbear where the Scissor Sisters DJ, Sammy Jo, was spinning his trademark NYC funk/punk stuff. Blackpool’s beautiful people were out in force and even we were shocked at just how many and how stunning they were. I don’t remember much more of the evening as lager consumption had reached critical level (apparently I was wandering around the club telling beautiful girls from Halifax that they should get an agent, move to LA and do sex with film stars).
I found gravy on my t-shirt next morning so I’m guessing chips, and possibly a battered sausage, were involved in the walk home.

Saturday was mainly a day for nursing tender heads but in the evening we took a stroll down to the Pleasure Beach where we had tickets for ‘Eclipse’ at the Globe Theatre. The show was very Cirque Du Soleil including acrobats flying around on bits of string and doing implausible things while balanced on tiny bits of wood. The costumes were stunning, the stage set was impressive and Vladimir (direct from Las Vegas!) didn’t disappoint as the strutting primadonna star.

Sunday was a day of rest followed by the drive home to London in the evening. Monday saw us heading into the west end for a very gay night out. We went to Joe Allen for dinner (theatre luvvies hangout, Elaine Stritch did a shit there once) and then to Drury Lane to see The Producers. Nathan Lane and Lee Evans were great, Victor Meldrews wife and Barry Cryer were in our row, the bit where they sing ‘Springtime For Hitler’ was spectacular, the ice cream was three quid a tub and the theatre radiators were set to ‘fry’ (I’d forgotten my lace fan too). Recommended show.

*writes note to santa requesting NOT to turn into a Sondheim listening, theatre programme reading show-queen*