Cabaret Sauvignon

So anyway, Friday night. Friday, as is traditional, followed right on from Thursday night and I think the morning vanished entirely in a white-wine haze. Not so much a hangover as a sleep-in, which was absolutely the best thing for me - I only wish I could do it more often. But as an owl condemned to live in a lark society, mornings, along with my beauty, talent and susceptibility to champagne, are simply another cross to bear.

I tore myself away from Quincy shortly after lunch to pop round the corner to the Royal National Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital, where I had an appointment at 3.10pm. The dear old NHS being what it is, I didn't actually get seen until 5.15, but fortunately the hospital (well-prepared for fractious patients) had a large stock of books for 50p, so I passed the time with Ali Smith's rather-good-so-far Hotel World.



Hotel World uses the trick common to writers who'd rather be doing short stories of telling a series of linked tales and tying them up neatly - or very tenuously, in some cases - at the end, to drape a modesty-saving veil of theme over the essentially episodic structure: a neat and sadly necessary trick to worm said book into the Novels section of Waterstone's. See also A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters and Ship of Fools (link). God forbid the public should suddenly realise it's actually reading short stories ...

But nuff of that. Our inaugural monthly Beauty and Bitch/Nathaniel and Tobias co-hosted night, Cabaret Sauvignon (don't get me started on the name* ...) awaited. I tootled up to Stoke Newington in time to find the lads of Insult to Injury perfecting their spontaneous interruptions (including a call mid-song from Mike's girlfriend) and generally larking about: the lovely Maureen Younger, (stand-up) and Nat Tapley, international playboy and Ubiquite of the Night, were rehearsing in separate corners, and balloons waited like strategic military targets for me to blow them up. I had intended to bring a proper sign, but balloons are the international symbol of Party and everyone we knew had the address anyway. However, venue owner Simon casually mentioned that he had a laminator so who knows what I might not knock up for next time ...

Billed as an 8.30 start, naturally enough nothing much (except drinking: an event in itself, I hear you cry ...) happened until 9.30. Repeated overrun warnings were issued. Our 90-minute show ended at midnight, and drinking was resumed. A whole bunch of people came in for the late-night booze at 11.15, and stayed for the comedy. That, in my Aspinal's book, is the true meaning of success.

* Dave claims to hate this name with a fiery, fiery passion. Over a night of so-called rehearsal, other names suggested included:

Pick ‘n’ Mix
The Wannabe Club
Shocking and Fupping
Shame Academy
Puppet Dictators
Accrington Stanley – who are they?
The Disestablishment
(The) Casting Couch
The Diogenes Club
The Potterers and Friends
Lovable Rogues
Special Babies
The Wrong Element
There Goes the Neighbourhood
The Out Crowd
Thespian, Biennial and Fey Night
Minimum Wage
Look but don't touch
Two drink cover
Stoke Newington Ramblers Association

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