My Sunshiny Life

{April 4, 2009}   Nana almost gets her groove on

It’s been a while since I’ve shaken my tail feather, its been a long time since I danced the night away until my feet scream NO! I can’t say I did either last night, but if we were using a baseball analogy I was sitting comfortably between first and second base.

The occasion was Sir Mark Allport leaving London, bound for the sunnier and smoggier climes of Singapore. The meeting point was Marketplace Bar by Oxford Circus and the place was heaving. We got a spot outside and sipped our drinks waiting for Mark. I was over it already and it was only 8pm. Standing, being jostled and carrying a heavy bag with a laptop isn’t my idea of fun.  Ok, in danger of breaking into a full fledged whinge, my feet hurt as well.  In a cunning plan I had decided to buy this pair of heels a size too small so they wouldn’t slip off my feet while I was walking. Good idea in theory, bad idea in execution.

Adding to my discontent there was a rather pizzled young man by us who kept spitting on the ground. Bringing it upon myself to teach him some manners, I reprimanded him sternly. He was pretty embarrassed and that should have been the end of it… Until a few minutes later when his mate accused me of staring at him.  I am not quite that desperate as to leer at pavement spitters thank you very much. Give me another few months of being single!  Never one to back down I started to ‘give it all that’ as the English would say.  Do not mess with a girl whose toes are crammed into the front of her heels.  The spitter apologised again and said he was spitting because he didn’t normally smoke and he’d had a drag of his mate’s cigarette. I advised him not to start smoking, he agreed that was a wise move and peace was restored.

I settled back down in to my mild and meek persona just in time for Mark to arrive. We pushed our way downstairs and I have to say, the smell wasn’t so fresh when the door swung open, like a big dungeon where shower dodgers lived. We managed to nab a table and with my feet taken care of, the place (and red wine) started to have an effect on me. The smells subsided and the hypnotic beats took over. The music was ass shaking samba and whilst I wasn’t cutting up the dance floor I was jiggling around happily in my seat. The drummer, shaker shaker man and the DJ (who was also the drummer man) were fabulous and it totally made me feel five years younger and ten kilos lighter. The power of the samba.

Smiley Samba Drummer

Smiley Samba Drummer

In the ‘I can’t believe I did that’ category I kept giving James very unsubtle winks, very obvious grins and the two thumbs up while he was chatting to a very pretty kiwi girl. Sorry James, I don’t know what came over me. I am VERY immature.

The ‘fark you’re funny’ award of the night has to go to Nick, who apparently I’ve met before. He was talking to me and what I thought he said was ‘do you still work in Bourne’. No I replied, I work in Holborn. He said it again and that’s when I realised he said PORN. Do I still work in porn? Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a family show, Little Miss Sunshine isn’t that kind of blog, although I might have more subscribers if it was. It was a very funny conversation opener and it gave us quite a bit of material to work with as we narrowed down which of my many movies he’d seen me in.  Apparently a gas mask featured, presumably to keep my wholesome Little Miss Sunshine persona intact.

My feet were now killing me and my thoughts were drifting towards how fabulous my bed was.  I said my goodbyes and waved to the samba drummer before slipping out the door and into my lovely flat comfy shoes – which are nearly as fabulous as my bed, but not quite.


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