Saturday night was one of immense cheese. We went to a Eurovision party at a private club in Soho. It was a hoot. Everyone had to represent one of the competing finalists. Names were drawn from a hat so that all was done fairly. I still felt sorry for the poor devils who had to find some way of dressing up to represent Bosnia & Herzegovina and Azerbaijan.I drew Germany. Fairly easy - or so I thought. Sadly, the only things that I (or anyone else I asked) could come up with were
a) Hitler - not so great from a European diversity point of view
b) Lederhosen - not so great for travelling on the tube and who the hell owns them anyway?
I was a bit stumped really. Then we had the inspiration to see who was actually singing for Germany. They were a bunch of glammed up scrubbers who’d been runners-up in German Idol a few years back. They were called ‘No Angels’, which fitted me perfectly so I donned horns and some bat wings.
The event was brilliant and everyone really made an effort. Sadly, the spirit of true competition has gone out of Eurovision and it’s now just a huge eastern European love-fest with all of the old Soviet block countries voting for each other. However, Ukraine’s entry was absolutely fabulous – a well-sexy chick with a rocking bod and big hair. I’m stunned she didn’t do better. Russia romped home with the gongs and we’re all convinced it was because there was ice-skating involved on stage.
No-one felt like ending on such a dud note (UK came bottom!) so we partied on a little more and then some of us decided to continue, in celebration of the art form that is song. We went to the White Swan in east London. It’s er… well… a gay club for chavs. I’ve never danced so close to so much man-made fibre, the resulting static charge building up in the place was bordering on catastrophic. There was also the usual ‘gentlemens’ club reaction to the music of whipping shirts off and dancing like crazy. I kept fully clothed but marvelled at the full range of tattoos on offer whilst slugging back another few pints of Stella. Yikes…scary yet kinda sexy.
6 comments:
Yes, i was highly annoyed with the mutual backslapping that was happening with the states of the former USSR - and I HATED the russian entry so EXTREMELY agro that they won!
OK, forgive my ignorance, but I am an Aussie...what is a CHAV???
:-)
I have so many questions, I'm not sure where to begin!
Monty. A chav is a person who either obtains wealth or designer clothes by dubious means or wears shockingly made designer fakes (mostly Burberry and Lacoste). They are usually in a lower social bracket, eat pies, smoke fags and get drunk on cheap beer before going home to thump their wives/girlfriends. The female of the species is pretty much similar and is often found wearing nasty ghetto gold (hooped earrings a favourite) and awful sovereign rings. They usually have what is termed "a Croydon facelift", which basically means they have their cheap perms pulled back into a severe ponytail. I recommend you look it up on Wikipedia. Where I'm from we call them Scally so look that up too.
Scott. Ask away!
So much to learn from this one.
What's a scrubber?
eek! I seem to have opened a whole can of worms here!
A scrubber is a woman probably of 'ill-repute' who takes in casual labour to support her income.
I think I've managed to insult huge swathes of society in just one short post. I'm not proud.
ha ha ha! You should be VERY proud of yourself Mr! It was a very entertaining post and it's helped expand our vocabs considerably! :-)
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