Down The Blitz with E and N
Went down The Blitz last night. Big mistake. It was full of girls dressed up like blokes trying to look like girls. I’d arranged to meet Emma in the cocktail bar . She came dressed in a pink tutu that was so big it hardly fitted through the door. Whenever she turned around she cleared the tops of half a dozen tables - broken cocktails glasses and cherries-on-sticks all over the bloody place! Personally I’d have preferred to have gone just about anywhere but the bloody Blitz. Never have seen the attraction, myself - horrible, squalid little place, stinks of greasy food and sweat. Like a transport caff for transvestites. E thinks it’s fabulous - “So decadent, my dahling.” Mind you, E thinks anywhere that doesn’t serve Watney’s Red Barrel is decadent. She’s led a very sheltered life, in my opinion.Emma’s boyfriend, Norm, came along later. The bouncer wouldn’t let him in. Not surprised, really. Well, he was wearing corduroy trousers and a Marks and Spencer’s cardigan. Not the sort of clientele they want to encourage. Brings down the tone. I mean, he hadn’t even had the simple decency to slap on a bit of blusher and nail varnish! In the end Emma had to go and plead with the bouncer. She can twist a man round her fingers just by fluttering her eyelashes. Especially the eyelashes she had on last night. Two inches long at least. Looked like a couple of squashed tarantulas. The muscles she must be building in her eyelids, fluttering those things!
No sign of Steve or George. Too downmarket for them these days, I suppose.
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