Well now...I have only just discovered that one of my favourite drinking holes; The Argy Bargy Caff has closed. I am beside myself with grief. It wasn't the cleanest/tidiest/most selubrious (?) joint in town BUT it was fun. I liked the staff. Always good for a belly laff.
Anyway, I managed to get a ticket for the Grand wotsit. It cost all of a quid on the black market. I was horrified. In my day., you could have a week's holiday in Benidorm for that much.
I looked out my figure-hugging fish-tail sparkly dress. It doesn't fit. I settled for ripped designer jeans (the label, swinging from the waistband, reads £2000 (which is a lie). I have a Bardot, off the shoulder top. My "pretend boob" jiggles about a bit when I jive. Who cares...not moi. As for shoes...I have some white, pointy-toed stilettos left over from my gadding about days in the fifties. They are a bit scuffed. Star-struck chaps would keep stepping on my toes. Therefore, I shall super glue a sprig of holly over the toe cap. Classy...dead right! where's the powder room? I need to slap on some lippy.