Tricky

She was a showgirl

That's not my photograph above, of course, primarily because I am in the shot. That's me, immediately above that hand holding the digital that appears bottom left, making a 'style statement' in pale blue Capri pants and a white tee shirt. We had a fun evening, Kylie and I. It all happened last Sunday night down at the O2. I haven't written about it because, a) I've been a lazy blogger but a hard worker, and, b) I'm off to see the show again tomorrow night and will write/photograph properly then. From much better seats than the one shown above. And let me tell you, that was a pretty good spot. I'll be 5th row centre tomorrow, all the better to appreciate Kylie's deliciousness and that thoroughly foxy show.

But, there was a critical 'moment of Summer 08' that happened just before Kylie. Our assembled group massed on the banks of the Thames just by West Ferry and drank gallons of Pimms in the sunshine. We had a little dinner, then caught the Clipper along the river to the venue, approaching Ms Minogue across water. I think she would have approved, had she known.

Deep thanks to Tony B for the photo...

Child's play

At the weekend I entered the world of children's entertainment. I must admit this hadn't exactly been the idea. When going to see High School Musical - Live! at the Hammersmith Apollo was mooted it seemed such a good plan. So kitsch, so fun, so jolly. But the reality? Not so much. It all became clear when we arrived at the Hammersmith roundabout and looking around aghast, realised we were not just head and shoulders above the other audience members, we were twice the height. Yes, the rest of the crowd were under the age of nine. Hell, truly, is the children of other people one does not know.

The last time I had been there, it was full of mid-thirties to early forties gays in leatherwear (and so on) queuing up for Yazoo. I was the lone customer who had attended both performances, of that I have no doubt. We sat there, a row of five gays, feeling intensely out of place as these young ding-a-lings pranced about on stage doing their thing to a utterly rapturous reception from the crowd. It wasn't just the screaming - I now know that enthusiasm cannot be more succintly displayed than with a row of pale pink pom-poms.

At half time we were almost defeated. So completely was this on another wavelength from anything I am interested in that I was ready to depart. But we stayed, and the truth was, I am glad we did. It turned out that all the catchy songs and good dance routines are in that part and the kids on stage seemed to suddenly come alive. This was facilitied by the fact that Letitia Dean was playing the part of the drama teacher with lashings of 'thank heaven I'm not in Elstree now!'-type pizzazz to reach the upper balcony where I was sitting and get me enthusiastic about this kiddiefest nightmare. Channeling one part Bet Gilroy, one part Pat Butcher and all the rest topped up with a generous helping of Blanche Devereaux, she stalked the stage in swoopy coats, copious leopardskin and purple suede boots. It was a delight. It occurred to me then, maybe one or two of those Yazoo-lovin' queens might have gone for a slice of this cheesefest after all.

That Breakin' Free song I like against my better judgement

Amsterdamage

So where did I end up? Holland. Amsterdam. Land of cheese and clogs and Delft pottery, amongst many other things. My mission, one I am recovering from even still, was the double-ended stag weekender. And it went well, very well. The boys loved it. The city was sensational (about which more in a moment) and really lived up to its frisky reputation. In short, everyone was happy.

Amsterdam does have a reputation of a city of anything goes, the ultimate in Sodom and Gomorrah and Euro-hedonism. Drugs, sex, rock and roll, the whole number. Overall we skipped the drugs part (drank coffee and Red Bull instead to stay alive rather then get doped, literally), a number of the group (but not I, alas!) witnessed the sex in some utterly grim-sounding live show performed by a half-hearted, middle-aged Goth couple (ewww....). And rock and roll? I dunno, I think doing two stag parties, complete with forfeits, dares and drinking games into the small hours till they became big hours again - back to back - is something that is worthy of Motley Crüe at their wilder moments. So, rock and roll lifestyle but to a disco beat, as ever.

My biggest surprise is how totally fantastic that city is. I mean, really. I didn't want to leave. Haven of creativity, great lifestyle and wonderful easygoing (beautiful... and I really do mean gorgeous) people. The canals, architecture, coupled with the vibe generally which reminded me a little of Vancouver. It's been a while (well, since March and Cape Town, anyway) where I seriously pondered settling in a new city. But it's so convenient. Forty-five minutes from Heathrow, completely different vibe and major buzz. Maybe I was just being a little affected by the caffeine and being among good friends, but I was half tempted to find some split-level apartment overlooking a canal and request for possessions to boxed up and forwarded...

Malcolm McLaren Double dutch

Double trouble

This weekend, I am going on a stag thing. This, for me, is unusual. I don't go to that many. In the past I have been to two. One of which I organised (it was my brother's) and the other one was a quiet drink for a friend on the eve of his marriage and -unusually sophisticated!- was in a bar in St Rémy de Provence. I know, I know. I get around. That was eight years ago; my brother's was last Autumn. Anyway, this stag will be one with a difference. Two stags, one weekend, prior to their Civil Partnership at the end of next month. A small group of us are 'doing' one party tomorrow night and then the other follows on Saturday. I'll let on where we are off to next week, as it's a big secret, but it's abroad - in one of the party capitals of Europe. That doesn't really narrow it down too much. Well, the cat isn't out of the bag yet, even if the stags soon will be. And for me, it's phase three of my 'summer European tour'. Hem hem.

Here's me being a bit of square... frankly, I am a little cautious about the whole thing, because of the massive necessary debauchery involved. I am sure I will get into it, indeed an alcohol/caffeine combo does tend to assist with these things, but sitting here now, I am inwardly bracing myself for what is to come. Am I really lame that the bit I am looking forward to most is wandering around said European city and seeing it for the first time up close and getting the camera out? Hmm, probably. It's just that two nights on the trot like that? Well, we shall see how it pans out. When the time comes, I am sure I will sparkle!

Climie Fisher Rise to the occasion

Don't ask about the recent Climie Fisher obsession. Who knows what's going on there.

Songs remind me

Me, looking out to sea, Cape Town, March 08

Before I darted off to Spain, I put a couple of lists together of brilliant dance pop songs I was listening as I swanned around the shimmering Costa. I'm going to Majorca at the end of next month so there will be more of that stuff around that time since I have no doubt my collection of those Ibiza-type anthems isn't exactly going to decrease between now and then. However, it's my habit to make other more esoteric compilations which slowly evolve over time. Sometimes these are just random selections of current favourites meticulously sequenced. Other times, they run a little closer to the bone, meaning my selection technique runs a little wider, for more nuance. This is one of those latter times. I'm not quite finished yet, this is still a little rough around the edges, but there's some good stuff here...

Into the nightlife Cyndi Lauper >>watch
Baby when the light David Guetta >>watch
Love changes (everything) Climie Fisher
You know me better Roísín Murphy >>watch
This boy's in love The Presets >>watch
The one Kylie Minogue
Can't shake the feeling Big Fun
Squeeze me Kraak & Smaak >>watch
Come over Estelle
Miles away Madonna
Falling out of reach The Guillemots >>watch (and weep)
All the times I cried Sharleen Spiteri >>watch
Back to black Amy Winehouse
Early winter Gwen Stefani >>watch
A&E Goldfrapp >>watch
Lost! Coldplay
Shattered dreams Johnny Hates Jazz
Songs remind me of you Annie
Back to zero Robbie Rivera

Hmm? Nuanced. Perhaps not so much.

And yes, that is Big Fun. Stay with me on this one. It's a Stock Aitken & Waterman joke sitting next to Kylie, but is actually a lot of, er, fun.

Has me reaching for mousse and a hairdryer...

Photographic paella

Highlights of my week in Andalucía. Stand by, online coffee-table book freaks.

Ah, this last one. A Secret Squirrel taken at that Bullring - the one in Ronda which I have been alerted is the selfsame one in which Madonna 'did' the Take a bow video. This chap is a member of the riding school. The front view turned out to be as promising as the rear (though bars separated us, I should clarify. More's the pity.).