And clearly I flew.
And not just home.
Through the entire week.
Thanks to @posh_bombshell and her Magic Pudding-like supply of coke.
Which she generously shared with @russian_princess and me.
Every day.
And every night.
I didn't ask where she got it.
And I didn't wanna know.
Although I did maintain an anxious lookout for gangsters in possible search of payment.
Everywhere we went.
Everywhere we went.
We sniffed our way around Chelsea and Soho.
Even around the East End.
Which I know is supposed to be where all the cool is right now.
To us it just felt dangerous.
Luckily we were high.
And pissed.
Or else we may have been genuinely frightened.
Acknowledging our alcoholic tendencies and that they may need to be addressed we signed up for a program.
The 39 Steps.
We felt 12 just might not be enough.
Turns out it was a show.
As in a play.
A slapstick murder mystery.
We were actually relieved.
And @russian_princess and I were also relieved to not be sitting too close to the front when we saw a stage version of Singing in the Rain.
Now, I'm going to say something controversial here, and let you know that I am in fact not a show queen.
Normally I can't stand a musical.
They leave me cold.
But there's something about being in one of the centres of the world for performing arts that had me ignoring my prejudices.
So we went.
And it was fantastic.
When it came time for the rain the stage miraculously transformed into this huge shallow tray and rain came down from the ceiling.
And with all the exuberant tap dancing came great sprays of water washing over the first few rows of the audience.
There were shrieks of both delight and despair.
Some people in the front row even put up their umbrellas.
I didn't realise they'd all been given plastic ponchos.
Because all I could think was: I'd be super shitty right now if I was down there and I was wearing silk, suede or velvet.
Despite this concern we did leave the show on an absolute high.
It was almost natural.
The first of the whole holiday.
And then in struck me.
I had done everything I wanted on this holiday.
Eating.
Drinking.
Shopping.
Drugs.
And a smattering of culture.
Except...
Sex.
#DNA Magazine
Facebook
@urban_homo_dna
And @russian_princess and I were also relieved to not be sitting too close to the front when we saw a stage version of Singing in the Rain.
Now, I'm going to say something controversial here, and let you know that I am in fact not a show queen.
Normally I can't stand a musical.
They leave me cold.
But there's something about being in one of the centres of the world for performing arts that had me ignoring my prejudices.
So we went.
And it was fantastic.
When it came time for the rain the stage miraculously transformed into this huge shallow tray and rain came down from the ceiling.
And with all the exuberant tap dancing came great sprays of water washing over the first few rows of the audience.
There were shrieks of both delight and despair.
Some people in the front row even put up their umbrellas.
I didn't realise they'd all been given plastic ponchos.
Because all I could think was: I'd be super shitty right now if I was down there and I was wearing silk, suede or velvet.
Despite this concern we did leave the show on an absolute high.
It was almost natural.
The first of the whole holiday.
And then in struck me.
I had done everything I wanted on this holiday.
Eating.
Drinking.
Shopping.
Drugs.
And a smattering of culture.
Except...
Sex.
#DNA Magazine
@urban_homo_dna
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