Cabaret

Bourgeois & Maurice were at CellarDoor last night. They were late (an eyelash glue emergency, or so they claimed) and the tiny basement-former-toilet was rammed. Was meant to have five friends with me – honest – but each and every bloody one ditched so was on my own, tucked in a corner and scowling. Nearly launched at the bartender when he took my Edith Pilaf  cocktail… it was only half finished. They served their champers cocktails over a glassful of ice cubes. Not a big fan, the champagne gets watery. Anyway.

Still, B&M finally showed up and were fantastic. There was a big table of City folk who talked most of the way through, then clapped and cheered and shouted after each song. Shut. The. Hell. Up. Chatted to a pair of costume designers – she had an ace mustard bag held together by safety pins, he was rocking a leopard-print cravat and Corey Haim hair – who thought B&M were the bees knees.

It was the first time the post-modern-punk-neo-cabaret-whatever duo didn't script their show, and it was all the stronger and fresher for it. Best cabaret outfit in London? Reckon there are many who would say so.

Last night's lesson? Peach Bellini's. A great idea at the time.