Very much just another blog

A happy bear dances at Fat Sam’s Speakeasy

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There’s the truth isn’t there, that if you tell someone they can’t have something, or shouldn’t know something, then automatically they are entirely and completely compelled to go hell for leather to find it out or make it their own. Like those fellas on ships. You know, sailors. To avoid scurvy they needed to eat lemons which are rich in vitamin C. Lemons are sour, tricksy things when you’ve no gin to add to them, so the captain popped a barrel on the deck, marked it for Sailing Management Only, or whatever, and within a few hours the entire crew were vitamined Ced to their eyeballs. Clever call, Captain.

There’s also the idea that when you think you are part of something that is secret you feel like you own it more than other people, you’re a little bit special (I am not wrapping my fingers ’round that), sharing it is empowering: the whole thing is exciting. These were some of the feelings the Suit I experienced as we made our way to a street in East London, to a meeting point, under a bridge for Secret Cinema. I won’t wang on about this, I’ll just tell you that for a night we were carried from the Limehouse DLR to the twenties in New York and it was amazing. We walked past shops, guys and dolls in street brawls, old cars filled with happy revellers and to Fat Sam’s Speakeasy. It was glorious. Dripping with the sort of attention to detail that wraps you up, draws you in and shakes you slightly on the inside. And people, you need to go. If you’re a fan of the sorts of events curated by Punch Drunk or Shunt then Secret Cinema should be on your list of important things to do. If you don’t have a list of important things to do, don’t panic; neither do I. Sometimes I think my life would be better if I did, but then I get distracted and the possibility falls away. Ah, and now I digress. Aha!

Right, all that said I need to tell you about something else that happened. The film they showed after the cabaret was Bugsy Malone and when the big fight happened at the end, they stopped running the film, loaded every one with custard tarts, started the film again and we all went for it. HOW FUCKING COOL. As the fight died down, the film ended and, with adrenaline still racing, I noticed something strange happen to the Suit. The Correspondents had joined to perform. They are freaking cool, just so you know, and if you follow that link you’ll see when they are playing again. I will be going and when I do I will be throwing some shapes. If the Suit comes, and I doubt he will be able to resist, you will be able to see what I saw last night: Yes. He was dancing. The moves he pulled actually stopped me in my tracks. And I *really* mean stopped. Me. Dead. With my hand over my mouth and unable to blink incase I missed it – or incase I needed to duck quickly.  He was like a dancing bear, happy, frenetic, everso slightly dangerous. God bless him. God bless the people close by.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, I guess. When he got back from the bar at the beginning of the night, the first thing he said was: I fucking love tap dancing. I wish I was in a tap dancing duo. Fucking awesome. This is the genius of the Suit. And I think we might might both learn how to tap dance. I think we should. Where can you buy those special shoes?



Written by elikafm

November 28, 2009 at 11:42 pm

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