Flamenco

Alright, you’ve missed it now, but in order for me to show you where I, in my capacity as one of London’s major Culture Vultures, went last Thursday evening, you’ll have to click here.

That’s correct, I went to the Flamenco Festival at Sadlers Wells. It was awesome. Rivetting! Cheapo tickets, as I’m still officially a student, and company in the form of a Nepalese beauty with whom I used to work a while ago.

And if we were to rewind, I’d tell you that we met an hour early, had dinner at the Breakfast club in Angel whilst playing a game of scrabble – that’s correct, we played a board game and ate food in a quirky boho restaurant before we went for the show.

Let’s for a moment forget that language wasn’t an issue. I can’t speak Spanish but I know good music and flexible clapper bodies when I see them. Equally, I know that, from the looks of things, there was a narrative to the dance pieces which completely passed me by. And despite this, I’m telling you it was great. And let me not forget the amount of Spaniards in the audience shouting ‘Ole!’ I suppose that’s the Spanish equivalent of Bravo!, or Wah!.

And it finished at 9pm. Early. In time for drinks here.

The Dollar bar on Exmouth Market serves what are, in my opinion, quirky cocktails which, for the most part I haven’t seen anywhere else.

So…

A Pornstar martini, a pomegranate and lemongrass mojito and a cucumber and rosewater martini later, I was full. Full enough to talk freely. You may laugh, but even I require some sort of verbal lubricant at times. The drinks were delicious.

Alright, alright, I’m a posh, cultured, snob. Deal with it.

Let me tell you something. If I had enough money, I’d fulfil that dream of being a bohemian. I’d do arty farty things all day.

Who wants to work?