An Aquamarine Dream

P1060102“I think they were the best I’ve ever seen them tonight” E shouted as we dashed through a force ten gale following The Cuban Brothers’ gig at The Shuck, Whitstable.

Soaked through we arrived at the car.  I shook raindrops from my hair and shut the door quickly.  “I may have to agree, and Lord knows I’ve seen them enough times: I can only put it down to the new aquamarine suit and the hometown combo.” I replied.

Ah, aquamarine, my favourite colour and when worn by one of the inimitable Cubans – local to this part of the woods – a tough act to follow.

We’d arrived at 8pm, out of town hours, earlier than usual.  “Everything’s usually winding down by 11pm here” said my Whitstablian friend E.  “I reckon they’ll be on at 8.30pm.” “9” I wagered.

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Ain’t no party like a Party party

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“I’m not sure why we’re looking at a film of sharks and bottom feeders, are you?” I said to my new friend Nelson as we sunk further into a comfy padded leather sofa at the National Liberal Club.  “I mean what’s this got to do with the General Election?”

Nelson nodded sagely.  “Well, don’t you see, that’s exactly the point?  Someone was told he had to work this evening and obviously went on YouTube, cobbled together three hours of this stuff for us to watch.  It’s some sort of divine retribution.  Let’s face it you don’t normally see just sharks and bottom feeders on a nature programme with no commentary whatsoever.”

I had to admit he was right, and it got me thinking. What was it all about?

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Disco dancing Jagger style

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I can always tell when my cousin is on the school run.  Apart from the time itself – around 4.45pm – the bellowing wind enveloping her usually causes a shouting match as she marches up the hill towards her son’s place of learning.

Me:  “RACH!  LOVELY HJORDIS FROM IBIZA HAS SENT AN INVITATION TO WHAT LOOKS LIKE A PROPER OLD SKOOL DISCO NIGHT.  IT’S CALLED THE RETURN OF JEZEBEL HOSTED BY BODY AND SOUL – A CHARITY – AND JADE JAGGER.”

Rach: (even louder than me):  THAT SOUNDS NICE!  COUNT ME IN!

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Wolf Hall

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I wish I had Cromwell’s ear, not literally of course, but he seems to know everything – who better to seek advice from?

Last night’s episode had us all over the place as usual, from one location to another faster than you could say; ‘Supreme Head of the Church of England.’

Daylight brings relief, as otherwise it’s rather difficult to understand what’s happening, and one is in danger of losing the plot so to speak:  During the bedroom scene last night – heavy tapestry-like blankets – I found I was reaching for my candle in some sort of effort to get a telepathic message to Cromwell to light a few himself and maybe shed more light on the topic.

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Blockbuster

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It’s like in December everyone you know says ‘We must catch up before Christmas!’ which is swiftly followed by festive cards that read ‘Let’s meet in the New Year!’

The situation today was in a similar vein: Given that the current blockbuster exhibition was ending imminently we thought we’d better get down there to view it – along with the rest of the country.

“We’re definitely amongst those people of a certain age” my cousin noted looking around her at the grey/white haired heads populating the Sainsbury wing of the National Gallery.  “Yes – quite!  That’s the joy of not working Rach!” I replied instantly.

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