A wet, November-type of day. The YP was uneventful and sombre. However, tonight is the thing to discuss. Martyn and I went to the Bod by good old bus, and a wet one at that and met Wendy (age aprrox. 27 years) and Anne (age unknown, but slightly younger than Wendy). After just one paltry drink we went by taxi to Annabella's, which I immediately recognised from the the only other occasion I had been there some 2 years ago (it was Christmas 1975, with Carole, on a coach party organised by David from Hawksworth Lane.)
We all ate, drank and danced marvellously. I gave a demonstration of my party piece, and a skilled one, of letting down inflated, knotted balloons. No one, it appears, has seen this done before. I managed to save at least 2 dozen of these gaily coloured objects which had throughout the evening given the effect of the January Sales in a nudist camp.
I must stress that neither Martyn or I consumed excessive amounts of alcohol. You can believe what you wish on this subject. Anne and I made hogs of ourselves attacking the buffet for 'seconds'. The 2 anonymous Smiths shop assistants joined us and the Egyptian sand-dancing was started up again. We were in hysterics. Martyn and I home in a taxi at 1.30 which only cost us £1 each. Not bad.
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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
Showing posts with label egyptian sand dance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label egyptian sand dance. Show all posts
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Sunday April 1, 1984
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