Saturday, 16 December 2017

Cytokynes, apparently



I slept in (with earplugs) till 3pm today...

Friday, 15 December 2017

Come on and do it do it do it



The dreaded Festering Season is almost upon us with a vengeance. Tinsel, glitter and Shakin' Bloody Stevens are everywhere. Last night it was the office "do", and there is just one full week of joy in the office before we disappear into our own little worlds and emerge the other side in 2018. The sooner the better!

It's time once again to get ourselves in a party mood, nevertheless [and we have a proper party tonight, as it is Our Sal's sparkly birthday bash tonight!], in the glittering company of the eternally tacky Legs and Co, flinging themselves around to the coolest-of-cool of dance choons - and to Thank Disco It's Friday!


Bohannon, Bohannon, Bohannon - we salute you.

Have a faboo weekend, dear reader!

Thursday, 14 December 2017

Stick them in the shredder, like Santa does


Simply throwing all Christmas cards into the bin unopened could save you up to four hours this Christmas, it has been claimed.

Time-saving expert Martin Bishop believes a million hours of festive fun could be gained nationally by putting cards straight in the recycling after squeezing them for possible money.

He said: “I hate to say ‘one weird trick’ but you take those cards and stick them in the shredder, like Santa does with the kids’ lists, and you’ll feel a real weight off your shoulders.

“Think of the time you’ll save buggering about opening them and putting them on a shelf.”


Bishop added: “You really don’t need to read Christmas cards, unless you especially like generic poems about robins and bells with a token greeting scribbled underneath. The ones hand-made by children or pensioners are especially poor.

“Although interestingly I did once get a card from my nan that had a racist drawing in it.”
The Daily Mash

Of course.

Bah Humbug!

Wednesday, 13 December 2017

Santa's beard hairs, an assassin, the Boy, perfectly Frank, boarding school dorm fun, and an Agony Aunt



"And so here it is, Merry Polari,
Ev'rybody's having fun!"


So it was that I trolled off (on my own - although Bryanne and Simon arrived to keep me company) through the slush and the biting winds on Monday to the Southbank, for the very last outing of "London's peerless gay literary salon" in 2017 - A Very Polari Christmas! Unfortunately I had neglected to put my camera into my bag in the haze of getting ready to to go to work, so any pics here are courtesy of fellow Polari-ites...



Our host Paul Burston was gaily bedecked as a hipster Santa to open proceedings, managing to hold it all together despite spitting out beard hairs, wished us Season's Greetings - and, without further ado introduced our first reader (and Polari regular) William Parker.

Fellow "New-putt"-born Mr Parker read from us a couple of pieces from his as-yet-unpublished new work. Weaving together the childhood experiences of a lonely (gay) schoolboy, the trepidation he and and his chums feel using a Ouija board for the first time, and (as reflected in a series of flashbacks to her own childhood) the spirit they conjure up - bizarrely, that of Charlotte Corday, the woman who was caught up in the French Revolution and became notorious as the assassin of the vicious Jean-Paul Marat, his selection was bewildering, and yet very intriguing indeed...



Next to the stand was a real raconteur of the old school variety - Mr Ian Elmslie. Formerly "the Boy" of legendary cabaret duo Katrina and the Boy [who I saw perform at the now-defunct Market Tavern in Vauxhall waaaay back in 1991!], apparently he was born at the same hospital as Quentin Crisp; he certainly brought a little load of camp to the proceedings - resplendent as he was with immaculate maquillage and sparkly brooch [pictured above]!

He read for us (with all the voices!) a couple of pieces from his memoir (or, as he described it, "a series of thank-you notes") A Marvellous Party, featuring his meetings with the great and the good among his (and our) heroes, including Dame Julie Walters (whose appearance was subject to a running commentary by the local bric-a-brac shopkeeper and the theatre's charlady)... and Armistead Maupin:


Simply faboo, sweeties!

How could the delightful Miss Susie Boyt possibly follow that? Arriving on stage, top-to-toe in the most divine silver ensemble, and with her characteristically dry-as-dust delivery, she managed very well, methinks - especially as she opened with a little prize quiz. "Who is the only Oscar-winner, both of whose parents were also Oscar-winners?", she asked. "Liza Minnelli", I responded in a stage whisper - and promptly won a copy of her book Love & Fame (from which her reading for us was taken)!

And what a story this was - the convoluted escapades of our heroine, a media-type waiting at a posh hotel for her supposed celeb-interviewee (who, she knows after six hours, is never going to show up); she makes a rash decision to instead amuse herself by inviting an older stranger ("Perfectly Frank") she met in the bar to her room. Then she promptly spends the rest of the evening on the phone to her sister, going over and over the feelings they felt at their mother's funeral. Meanwhile, the disappointed stranger leaves - and we are left hanging, wondering what she's up to...

I cannot pay sufficient justice to Miss Boyt's talents - the audience was enraptured!

With all that ringing in our ears, however, it was time to brave the chill for a fag-break and a top-up at the bar.

Warming up the audience for the second half [metaphorically and literally; the room was cosier than the windswept walkways of the Southbank!], Paul - "robbed" of his Santa-suit - proudly introduced a "literary hero of his" to the stand, the remarkable Mr Tony Peake.

He read from us a few passages from his first new novel in 20 years North Facing, the blurb for which reads thus:
A novel of awakening and atonement, this exquisitely realised story revisits a seminal boyhood moment as it plays out - with unexpected and sinister consequences - against the backdrop of political upheaval in South Africa. For one long, intense week in October 1962, the Cuban Missile Crisis brought with it an East-West stand-off and the possibility of nuclear holocaust. On the other side of the globe, in Pretoria, a group of schoolboys scan the horizon for signs that the world is about to end. There is political tension here too, and the power struggles and cruelties of the boys mirror the corruption of a deeply divided country. Paul Harvey - sensitive, isolated, and desperate to fit in at school despite his English heritage - will do whatever is needed to please the class ringleader, Andre du Toit. Now in his sixties and living abroad, Paul is drawn back to South Africa to confront the unexpected and chilling consequences of this seminal boyhood moment - and the part he unwittingly played in the drama that unfolded.
At times teasingly erotic (just what was he prepared to do for Andre in the dorm in order to be accepted into the "gang"?) and funny (the older Paul encountering an "English countryside"-themed hotel in the midst of the lawless "badlands" outside Johannesburg), this has the promise of being a very good read, indeed.

But, of course, now it was time for the "true" Spirit of Xmas to take to the stage: the "Secret Santa" herself, "Aunty" Val Lee!

Reading a selection of hilarious "letters" from her "agony aunt postbag", she dished out a wealth of pithy (and often ridiculously awry) "advice" to all and sundry. With the laughter subsiding, she shed her "advice columnist" persona in favour of "VG Lee, Author" - to read for us a passage from her classic Always You, Edina.

The piece she focused us on was engrossing - the childhood memories of the book's protagonist Bonnie, and her daily attempts to impress the idol of her life: Joanna Bayliss, the most popular girl at her school; the games she invented, the glances they shared, the desperate yearning... and the contrast between her dreams and the reality of her home life, and her relationship with her no-nonsense Nan. Brilliant, as always!





And so, with the customary "curtain call" of all the evening's readers, another fantabulosa evening's literary entertainment came to a close - with resounding applause, as one might expect!

Now we have to wait till the itinerary for next year's Polari events is published before making plans for the next visit - hopefully it won't be too long a wait.

We love Polari!

Tuesday, 12 December 2017

People who enjoy this kind of cinematic orgy


Mmmm. They look nice and warm...

As the snow handed the baton to slush, and then a bitterly cold night turned it to ice, so we fully expect the entire country to grind to a halt by Wednesday. It always happens. One might expect that a nation that obsesses about the weather all the time might be a bit more prepared for - say - wintry conditions in winter, or heat in summer. But I digress...

Let's get away from all the "weather-bomb" bullshit, and lose ourselves with a suitably light musical interlude - courtesy of those super-cool bods over at Soft Tempo Lounge!

This time, the featured film is one of a most obscure level of trashiness, described by critic Brian Greene at Criminal Element thus:
I don’t suspect that many who watch this movie are really in it for the story. It’s the pure 70s camp features that make this film a giggle-inducing source of wonder for the B-movie enthusiast. There’s staples from the decade, such as outrageously wide shirt collars, unconvincing martial arts manoeuvres, oversize computing equipment, funky disco music (I need the soundtrack, desperately) and such. Other aspects of the movie likely to delight people who enjoy this kind of cinematic orgy include car and foot chases, cock-fights, psychedelic coloured lights, and laughably grave conversational tones spoken by outlandish characters involved in ludicrous doings.
Wonder Women sounds right up our street! Judge for yourself:


Music: Firebird by Neil Richardson Orchestra

Groovy.

Monday, 11 December 2017

Mambo!



I was somewhat misled by the "fake news" of Wikipedia this time last year, when I inadvertently paid tribute to a "centenarian" - when, in fact today is the 100th anniversary of the ebullient Pérez Prado, "The Mambo King"...

Regardless of such embarrassing errors - here is the man himself, in fine form this Tacky Music Monday, to cheer us up as we traverse the slush on our way to work...


Have a Mambo week, dear reader!

Dámaso Pérez Prado (11th December 1917 – 14th September 1989)

Sunday, 10 December 2017

Gotta get my gear out ready for a winter spill



Having spent all day yesterday with "our gang" - at one of our newest innovations, a "Film Club" - drinking vast quantities of alcohol, and watching hours of campery (the Technicolour remake of The Prisoner of Zenda, followed by The Grand Budapest Hotel), I was in need of a lie-in. No such luck, as the demon spawn upstairs decided that destroying furniture while screaming at the tops of their lungs was a good idea at 9am on a Sunday...

...and to top it all, the world turned white overnight (which will make a trip to the shops that little bit more tedious than usual)!

Hey ho. We might as well welcome the arrival of winter proper with a suitable number, courtesy of former Edwin Starr protégé turned Hi-NRG singer Mis Laura Pallas:


Let's hope I stay vertical.

Saturday, 9 December 2017

Someone, help me, help me, help me please





Oh dear, time to feel old again... My childhood crush, the toothsome Donny Osmond is sixty years old today!

I was nine when I sat, entranced, in front of Top of the Pops, crying over this one...


Times have changed.




Too young? Not any more...

Many happy returns, Donald Clark "Donny" Osmond (born 9th December 1957)!

Friday, 8 December 2017

There's a new day on the other side (yeah)


I could sit and watch this all day

This week has dragged, but the end is in sight...

As we gather ourselves for the celebrations, let's perk ourselves up in the company of a semi-naked Ryan Phillippe [in the film 54], and the estimable talents of today's birthday boy Dan Hartman (RIP) - and Thank Disco It's Friday!


Help me escape this feelin' of insecurity
I need you so much but I don't think you really need me
But if we all stand up in the name of love
And state the case of what we're dreamin' of
I've got to say I only dream of you
But like a thief in the night
You took away the love that I knew

Relight my fire (Well)
Your love is my only desire
Relight my fire
Cos I need your love

Turn back the time to the days when our love was new
Do you remember?
No matter what was happenin' I was there with you
But if we all stand up for what we believe
And maybe live within our possibilities
The world would be wild for the dream
So baby don't turn away
Listen to what I gotta say

Relight my fire
Your love is my only desire
Relight my fire
Cos I need... oh I need your love

Strong enough to walk on through the night (yeah)
There's a new day on the other side (yeah)
You got to have hope in your soul
Just keep on walkin' yeah, just keep on walkin' yeah

Relight my fire
Your love is my only desire
Relight my fire
Cos I need your love


Have a great weekend, dears.

Thursday, 7 December 2017

Don't let the moment slip away



Congratulations, Australia!

From the News.com.au site:
A bill has been passed in Parliament to legalise same-sex marriage in Australia.

There were jubilant scenes in the public galleries and chamber where crowds and politicians rose to their feet, clapped and cheered. Many sang ‘I am, you are, we are Australian’ and waved rainbow flags.
I bet!

Who better to lead the celebrations than Australia's greatest ever export (and stalwart gay equality supporter) Our Princess Kylie Minogue?


How do you describe a feeling?
I've only ever dreamt of this.

DJ's spinning up my favourite song,
Hurry up and get a groove on.
Light fantastic and it won't be long,
Don't let the moment slip away.

'Cause you and I could find a pleasure, no one else has ever known.
Feels like it is now or never, don't want to be alone

How does it feel in my arms?
How does it feel in my arms?
Do you want it?
Do you need it?
Can you feel it?
Tell me.
How does it feel in my arms?

Got a feeling this is something strong.
All I wanna do is move on.
No more wondering where I belong.
So never go away.

'Cause you and I are a guilty pleasure, no one else has ever known.
Feels like it is now or never, don't want to be alone.

How does it feel in my arms?
How does it feel in my arms?
Do you want it?
Do you need it?
Can you feel it?
Tell me.
How does it feel in my arms?

Wednesday, 6 December 2017

There is a little bit of Johnny in all of us









...apparently.


RIP the man nicknamed "The French Elvis", teen heartthrob and latterly "bad boy" of rock - Johnny Hallyday (born Jean-Philippe Smet, 15th June 1943 – 5th December 2017)

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

Elegant gifts



...courtesy of Miss Haversham's Curiosities.

I want one of these!

Monday, 4 December 2017

Luvvies or Land-lubbers?



Congratulations to the venerable Glenda Jackson, who was awarded Best Actress at the London Evening Standard theatre awards last night - for her return to the stage after a 20-year hiatus as an MP, as the groundbreaking female King Lear.

Less known to the world maybe, but on this Tacky Music Monday we at Dolores Delargo Towers pay tribute to her legendary musical debut...with The Muppets!


I bet that woke you up!

Have a good one, dears...

Sunday, 3 December 2017

Big Finnish



The demon spawn upstairs have gone out for the afternoon, which is cause in itself for celebration and relaxation.

Even more opportune, then, is the fact that there is a centenary in the offing - Finland became an independent state on 6th December 1917*.

Here, to send the shivers up your spine, is a most magnificent piece by that country's most famous composer Jean Sibelius...


Oh, that's better.

*Birthday Kake, anyone?

Saturday, 2 December 2017

A word from our sponsor



Never mind unusual - these look downright uncomfortable...

[And what's with the "Mother Mary" drag queen?!]

Friday, 1 December 2017

Just what I'm searching for



We are suffering a freezing cold snap here in London - we even had a flurry of snow yesterday - and I really don't feel like going out into the gloom. But there is light at the end of the tunnel, as another weekend hoves into view...

So, regardless of whatever the weather throws at us, we still need to get into a party frame of mind! What better to get the celebrations going than one of the campest dance music videos ever made, featuring gay sailors, policemen and cowboys - and a bevy of showgirls? It's the Freemasons, of course!

Thank Disco It's Friday!


Let it rain down, love. Indeed.

Have a good weekend, dear reader.

Thursday, 30 November 2017

I'm glad I spent it with you



Timeslip moment again - and its quite scary how time flies...

We've beamed down in 1997 again, dear reader - a world mourning the death of Diana Princess of Wales; the year of Tony Blair, comet Halle-Bopp, Bill Clinton, Madeline Allbright, the Spice Girls, Teletubbies, IBM's Deep Blue computer, Oasis, massacres in Algeria, Great Britain's last (to date) Eurovision win, the launch of Channel 5, Gianni Versace's murder, the handover of Hong Kong to China, Titanic and Dolly the sheep.

In the news in November '97: 62 tourists were mown down by Islamic militants outside the Temple of Hatshepsut in Egypt, the BBC launched News 24 and its full-time online news service, attempts to extradite the Great Train Robber Ronnie Biggs from Brazil were thwarted, and the new British Library opened; in the ascendant were Mary McAleese (elected President of Ireland in succession to Mary Robinson, the first time in the world that one woman succeeded another as elected head of state), Bobbi McCaughey (who gave birth to the world's first surviving septuplets) and HM the Queen and The Duke of Edinburgh (celebrating their Golden Wedding anniversary), but the world reeled when the gorgeous Michael Hutchence was found dead in his hotel room. In our cinemas: Chasing Amy, GI Jane, Alien: Resurrection. On telly: I'm Alan Partridge, The Adventures of Paddington Bear, and the last ever series of Give Us a Clue.

And in the charts this week in November two decades ago? The infectious Barbie Girl had just been knocked off its perch. Also present and correct in the Top 10 were Natalie Imbruglia, All Saints, Lutricia McNeal [me neither], the Prodigy, MegaBabs with Slime Dion, Aaron Carter, Louise and Stephen Houghton [whooooo?]. However, there was one song that was to wipe the board with all of 'em, having just crashed into the top slot and summarily deposed the all-conquering Aqua - and lordy, it is a good one...

Featuring possibly the most amazing array of talent ever committed to one record - [in order of appearance] Lou Reed, Bono, Skye Edwards (from Morcheeba), David Bowie, Suzanne Vega, Elton John, conductor Andrew Davis and the BBC Symphony Orchestra, Boyzone, Lesley Garrett, Burning Spear, Thomas Allen, the Brodsky Quartet, Heather Small (from M People), Emmylou Harris, Tammy Wynette, Shane MacGowan (from The Pogues), tenor horn player Sheona White, Dr. John, Robert Cray, Huey Morgan (from Fun Lovin' Criminals), Ian Broudie (from The Lightning Seeds), Gabrielle, Evan Dando (from The Lemonheads), Courtney Pine, Brett Anderson (from Suede), Visual Ministry Choir, Joan Armatrading, Laurie Anderson and Tom Jones - it is, of course, Perfect Day!


Can it really be TWENTY YEARS since that slice of magnificence first hit our screens???

I feel old.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Noooooooo!



...now they want to BAN GLITTER!!!!!!!!


Read the article

Tuesday, 28 November 2017

They said my fiery whiskers made the guns go off too soon



With Harry'n'Meghan's engagement set to dominate every single news programme, tabloid and "lifestyle" magazine article for the next few months, I think it only right that I should add my congratulations by way of an appropriate song...


Ginjah, Ginjah
They all know Captain Ginjah
Jolly old pot, O.T. 'ot
Ninety-five in the shade what, what.
I love all the ladies
Not one of them would I injure
All the girls love Gin-Gin-Gin-
Gin-Gin-Gin-Gin-Ginjah!


Indeed.

Monday, 27 November 2017

There's a chance that we may fall apart before too long



Oh bum. Monday again...

After a weekend of enjoyable meanderings, shopping for trimmings and stuff in Walthamstow and Camden markets (it gets me out of the house and away from murderous thoughts about those marauding brats upstairs), having to get up and out in the murk and gloom of Monday at this time of year is particularly harsh.

It is still a Tacky Music Monday, however! So let's thank heavens for the combined talents of yesterday's birthday girl Miss Tina Turner, together with the unstoppable Cher, and - rather incongruously - Miss Kate Smith [unknown over here, but notable in the US for her campaigns against "indecency" and her famous rendition of God Bless America] and their most bizarre "Beatles Medley" to cheer us up...


Have a good week, peeps!

Sunday, 26 November 2017

An angelic troublemaker, a Smalltown Boy, The Bear... and Our Joey's been a very naughty boy



Can it really be TEN YEARS since the very first Polari? Although I wasn't actually at the earliest outings of "London's peerless gay literary salon", I first encountered the co-founders of the (now defunct) House of Homosexual Culture Rupert Smith and Paul Burston at a linked event that they hosted called Between the Covers (part of LGBT History Month) way back in February 2008, so I am probably the longest-serving audience member of them all...



But most deserving of any such "long service medal" is, of course, hostess-with-the-mostest Mr Burston. And it was with well-earned pride that he opened proceedings for this very significant anniversary.

Least said soonest mended where opening act Carey Wood is concerned, unfortunately. Suffice to say that one-line epigrams do not a "poet" make, in my book. Ahem.



Next up was the beamingly cheerful Mr Bisi Alimi - described on his website as “Angelic Troublemaker Incarnate” - to save the day. The first Nigerian to openly declare his sexuality on national television in 2004, the subsequent threats to his life led him to move to the UK as a refugee; happily he was granted British citizenship in December 2014. He has managed to carve quite a name for himself out of the experiences: he has been much in demand as a speaker, has written for The Guardian (among others), and remains a prominent gay rights activist and HIV/AIDS advocate.

The piece he read for us on Friday he admitted he only finished a week earlier. A marvellously pithy and often humorous exploration of "identity", Who Am I? was sublime. Here is Mr Alimi speaking about his experiences at a recent event hosted by The Daily Beast:




We might have wished for a little "light relief" after that, but, continuing with the "first-hand experiences" theme, our darling "Sexy Lexi" Gregory read a heart-stopping one (which, together with two more, he hopes to bring to the stage as a full production next year) - about an archetypal "Smalltown Boy" and his venture to London, his part in the world of gay rights activism through the tumultuous 80s, the impact of AIDS, and the state of the "gay world" today in the wake of the loss of a whole generation and their collective lived experiences.

It was only towards the end of his impressively-performed monologue that the penny dropped. This was Paul Burston's story. The audience was stunned, and Mr B was visibly choked-up as he adjourned the evening for a much-needed break.



Suitably refreshed, it was the turn of the eminent American writer and "theatre-maker" J Fergus Evans to take the stage, reading a currently unpublished piece that I believe might be called The Bear. With its subtly erotic tone - a young boy's hero-worship of/desire for the eponymous "Bear" (an assumed fling of the boy-narrator's mother) - the lavish descriptions of the "Bear"'s body, muscles, beard hair and even his scent caused quite a few ripples of thrill through the audience... not least our John-John, who came over all unnecessary...



However, as always, it fell to the ever-brilliant Mr Jonathan Harvey to steal the show! Revisiting his excellent debut novel All She Wants, the piece he read (hilariously, I might add) was a familiar one - the aftermath in the family of the protagonist Jodie, after her brother "Our Joey" was arrested in flagrante delicto in a park...
Mum didn't acknowledge my arrival, she just kept staring straight ahead, her eyes on the blank TV. "I suppose you knew." There was so much vitriol in her tone of voice. Like I'd made him gay just to spite them. Like I'd been laughing behind her back all this time.

"Mum?!" I was acting dumb. Something I was very convincing at as I'd had a lot of experience doing it for real.
"I suppose you knew Our Joey is a freak."
"He's not a freak."
Dad came bombasting in from the kitchen now.
"Oh, and I suppose you think it's normal to go shagging blokes in the great outdoors?"
Things must have been bad as Mum didn't tell him off for saying "shagging". Though she did shiver like someone had rubbed a piece of ice down her back.
"Well, no I don't," I agreed.

"Otterspool Prom!" cried Mum. "We used to take you there for picnics." He'd clearly sullied her memory of it forever.

"What was he actually arrested for?"
"Gross indecency in a public place," said Dad, and each syllable was punctuated with his disgust.
"He wasn't arrested; he was just cautioned. Coz of his age."
"I mean, Jeez, it's one thing being a gay; it's another thing doing it in a frigging park."
Dad shook his head.
"Malcolm!" Oh, so she was getting her mojo back. "And it's not a park is it? It's a beauty spot!"

"A beauty spot?!" I laughed involuntarily and she gave me one of her looks. It brought me up short. Time to back-pedal. "Well, yes, it is a thing of beauty in... spot form." God, must do better!
Mum sighed.

"Oh well," I said, trying to lighten the load, "now we know why he's put his career ahead of girlfriends!"
Mum rolled her eyes. "Don't make this about you, Jodie."
Why shouldn't I? Just for one moment. Surely she could see that I was fighting Our Joey for the crown of Golden Child. Surely I'd be allowed some Brownie points now for being... well... normal!

"The shame of it, Jodie. We had to go to the police station to get him. And he's completely unapologetic."
"He did say sorry, Sandra."
"Well I didn't hear him."
"I mean, he did sound a bit snarky when he said it, like."

"Poor Joey,"
I said. Whoops, bad move. Mum jolted in her seat like she was in the electric chair.
"Poor Joey? Poor Joey? What about poor us, having to go to the cop shop to fetch him?!" Mum had been watching too many soaps and had picked up most of her phrases from them. She'd start calling me Treacle or Princess next, like Dirty Den. "The shame of it, Jodie. The utter shame. The way they were looking at us. Judging us." And she dissolved into tears, pulling a paper hankie from the sleeve of her cardigan and burying her face in it. Dad rubbed her shoulder. It was hardly the most affectionate of moves: he looked like he was rubbing something off a car-seat cover.

Just then we heard footsteps coming across the carpet, and suddenly Our Joey was stood in the doorway with a bag over his shoulder. Greg followed behind him.
"Don't be a knob, Joe," Greg was saying. Joe? He called him Joe? I'd not heard that before.

"Where d'you think you're going?" said Mum, sounding like all the things she hated: common, unbecoming and fishwife-esque.
"As far away from here as possible!" gasped Our Joey. He sounded like he was in an episode of Dynasty.
"You've got nowhere to go," I pointed out.
"Haven't I?" said Our Joey.
Utterly faboo - and even better if you can imagine it all being said in a camp Scouse accent. Tantalising half-truths were yet to emerge, however. Just why is Jodie's boyf Greg so protective of Our Joey... and why did he have mud on his shoes? Where is Our Joey headed? And [in another passage Mr Harvey read] why is Jodie's best mate Hayls such a drama-queen, pretending to be disabled in order to "identify" with her wheelchair-using boyfriend?



As the applause (not least from our "gang" including John-John, Paul, Bryanne, Simon, Wayne and Roland, and a packed house that included Paul's hubbie Paolo and his cousin Elaine) threatened to take the roof off the Weston Pavilion (in which we had been uncomfortably located for the occasion), so Mr B called all the readers back to the stage, and... (more's the pity) that was that for a rather splendid evening's entertainment.

The last outing of the year will be A Very Polari Christmas on 11th December - with readings from Tony Peake, Susie Boyt, William Parker, Ian Elmslie and, of course, VG Lee.

Can't wait!

We love Polari.

Saturday, 25 November 2017

Thought for the day



...from the public spirited burghers of Scarfolk Council.

Friday, 24 November 2017

J-J-J-Jive talkin' - you're telling me lies



Another milestone was recently reached - it is 40 years this month since the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever exploded all over our charts! One of the world's biggest-selling albums, it spent 18 consecutive weeks at No. 1 here in the UK; though we had to wait till March '78 to see the film.

Track after track after track would be an eminently suitable choice for our traditional party number to start the weekend. The album has 'em all - Stayin' Alive, Night Fever, How Deep Is Your Love, More Than a Woman, If I Can't Have You, Boogie Shoes, You Should Be Dancing, Disco Inferno...

...but, to get our juices flowing ready to boogie, I've chosen this one!


It's just your jive talkin'
you're telling me lies, yeah
Jive talkin'
you wear a disguise
Jive talkin'
so misunderstood, yeah
Jive talkin'
You really no good

Oh, my child
You'll never know
Just what you mean to me
Oh, my child
You got so much
You're gonna take away my energy

With all your jive talkin'
You're telling me lies, yeah
Good lovin'
Still gets in my eyes
Nobody believes what you say
It's just your jive talkin'
That gets in the way

Oh my love
You're so good
Treating me so cruel
There you go
with your fancy lies
Leavin' me lookin'
like a dumbstruck fool
with all your

Jive talkin'
You're telling me lies, yeah
Jive talkin'
You wear a disguise
Jive talkin'
so misunderstood, yeah
Jive talkin'
you just ain't no good

Love talkin'
is all very fine, yeah
Jive talkin'
Just isn't a crime
And if there's somebody
You'll love till you die
then all that jive talkin'
just gets in your eye

Jive talkin'
You're telling me lies,yeah
Good lovin'
Still gets in my eyes
Nobody believes what you say
It's just your jive talkin'
That gets in the way


I listened to The saintly Ana Matronic's recent Radio 2 documentary Night Fever - The Rise of the Bee Gees, and - among many fascinating insights and reminisces it featured - according to Barry Gibb, that unmistakeable percussive intro to the song was taken from the clack-clack noise the group's car made while crossing a metal bridge on their way to the recording studio!

The result is legendary.

And I hope your weekend is similar, dear reader.

Saturday Night Fever soundtrack on Wikipedia

Thursday, 23 November 2017

Reline yourself, resign yourself, you're through





Lost among the coverage in the papers recently of the passings of "national treasure" Likely Lad Rodney Bewes, and (of course) the death of the superstar David Cassidy, I didn't hear till today [thanks to the lovely Marc over at Deep Dish] that dear old Della Reese had also departed for Fabulon...

Emerging out of poverty and the melting-pot of gospel churches in the segregated US Mid-West, Miss Reese rose through musical success singing jazz, blues and pop to become a well-loved character on mainstream American television. Of course much of this small-screen output is a mystery to us Brits, and so it is for her music she is best known - despite never having had a hit record here.

Her genre-defining "cha-cha-cha" musical era has been a particular favourite of ours here at Dolores Delargo Towers for many years - not least this one:


But she had a mighty fine pair of tonsils, no matter the genre:


I often got her mixed-up with her even more revered predecessor Pearl Bailey - and indeed, given the cohort of her fellow stars in this sketch [possibly one of the most camp televisual moments in history!], I might hazard a guess that she may have been an acceptable substitution rather then the producers' first choice...


She held her own admirably, nonetheless!

So admired was Miss Reese that none other than Martha Reeves admitted that her entire act was a tribute - she named her group "The Vandellas" after Van Dyke Street in Detroit and Della Reese. Tribute indeed.

RIP Della Reese (born Delloreese Patricia Early, 6th July 1931 – 19th November 2017)

Read my previous tributes to Miss Reese here, here, and (especially) here.

Wednesday, 22 November 2017

Chasing after rainbows I may never find again





Very sad news - "the beauteous one" David Cassidy is dead.

We will never forget him...



RIP, David Bruce Cassidy (12th April 1950 – 21st November 2017)

Read my previous tributes to David here and here.

Tuesday, 21 November 2017

BastAid


Former Smiths frontman Morrissey has released a charity single raising funds for utter bastards.

Morrissey confirmed that all the money he makes from his new single Utterly Miserable Pretentious Christmas will go to BastAid, a charity that helps bastards, twats and arseholes.

He said: “Often bastards, especially older rich white bastards, don’t have anyone to speak up for them.

“All the money I make from my new single, which isn’t that good to be fair, will go towards helping these poor men.

“Perhaps it will help build a shelter for falsely accused Hollywood moguls or maybe it will fund further education courses for predatory actors.”


UKIP member and bloke who used to say The Smiths were for ‘fruits’ Wayne Hayes said: “As long as he doesn’t sing or wave any leeks around then Morrissey might just be our Christ figure.”
The Daily Mash

Of course.

[The "real" story]

Monday, 20 November 2017

Down in Mehico


Love the "Queen of Hearts" 'do

Another week opens, dank and dark - and I feel completely unrefreshed, and in need of a long sleep.

Hey ho - this Tacky Music Monday also happens to be the birthday of the eternally lovely June Christy, so let's shake ourselves out of the "slough of despond" and get going, with this sickeningly cheerful faux-Mexican number featuring the great lady, in the company of the estimable Stan Kenton Orchestra:


Have a good week, dear reader!

June Christy (born Shirley Luster, 20th November 1925 – 21st June 1990)

Sunday, 19 November 2017

Suffer little children



I was jolted from my slumber this morning by the cacophonous noise of screaming, crashing and banging from the "demon spawn" upstairs. It turns out there were visitors up there (on a Sunday morning??); three children in total. I am in a foul mood...

Now that they have finally gone out, I am in need of a little peace and quiet.

What better than the music of one genius (Beethoven) played by another master (Barenboim) to soothe the mood?


Oh, that's better...

Saturday, 18 November 2017

Days may be cloudy or sunny



It's turned wet and downright miserable here in London, which did put a damper on Mother's visit today somewhat. I think she enjoyed it, nonetheless.

It also happens to be the birthday of a prodigious lyricist - the man who wrote [among well over 1400 other songs in the Great American Songbook] One for My Baby, Moon River, I Remember You, Jeepers Creepers, P.S. I Love You, Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah, Hooray for Hollywood, Something's Gotta Give, Girlfriend Of The Whirling Dervish, Blues in the Night, Fools Rush In, Autumn Leaves, The Waiter And The Porter And The Upstairs Maid, How Long Has This Been Going On?, Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive, Tangerine, Strip Polka, And the Angels Sing, That Old Black Magic, I'm Old Fashioned, Lazy Bones, Too Marvellous For Words, Goody Goody, You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby, Day In Day Out, Skylark...

...and this one!


Very appropriate.



The birthday boy in question is, of course, Mr Johnny Mercer (born John Herndon Mercer, 18th November 1909 – 25th June 1976)

Friday, 17 November 2017

Blonde Friday?



The weekend looms at last, after a particularly long and tiresome week...

Mother's in town tomorrow, so there'll be no rest for the wicked. That's not going to stop the party, however! - not when we have a right pair of slappers those awesomely talented party animals, former "Page 3" topless models Miss Nina Carter and (birthday girl) Miss Jilly Johnson, aka Blonde on Blonde - to start the celebrations:


Thank Disco It's Friday!

Read more about the - ahem - musical career of Blonde on Blonde, courtesy of Dangerous Minds