A splendid evening commenced with drinks at Club Derrig and the opportunity to hear an enormously interesting exchange between Spiv Oestreicher and Bilberry about ambulances. It became guffaw central after a handful of drinks. The moment was somewhat soured by an outburst of disagreement between Spiv and Mr Benjamin Thomas over the purchase of a glass washing machine, each of them denying responsibility in a very degrading way.
Onwards to a musical extravaganza at Le Scala, with my amanuensis, the literary genius Williams. (Who writes this stuff?)
The first entertainment was provided by a young woman and her troupe mainly dressed in red and bathed in red light. All very red, really.
Next up a bunch of noisy boys. Lots of green and purple.
Finally a clump of bearded chaps giving history lessons with guitars, and one of them a knob-twiddling one-note trumpeter of the Saxondale ilk.
All of them sporting black armbands for the passing of dear old Ned Sherrin. Great name for a horse.
Who knows what on earth they were on about, but I do recall some anti-Norwegian heckling for a reason best known to the heckler.
Then home for a pot noodle, one of nature's finest confections.
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