It’s a small world, after all

On Friday, Zapata, St and One of the Seven agreed to join us to listen and dance to Winding Corridors, a live band playing anything from ’80s and ’90s music to disco and heavy metal. Jod and me first went to the theatre, then to a Mexican restaurant. By the time we were ready for some dancing, Zapata had fallen asleep at his home, after having watched Sin City on DVD and St had relapsed into her Yuletide tonsilitis complete with a fever. She also stayed home. One of the Seven made it with two female friends and a male one named after the natural border between Greece and Turkey (imagine: “My name is Bond, Pyrenees Bond” — something like that).

A lot of dancing ensued. In fact, at a given moment I found myself dancing next to a political party leader (right-wing fearmonger, if you ask me) and his scantily clad party youth overlords. Then we spotted Jod’s German classmate from her Spanish lessons, who said she had had enough of the Outpost and was so bloody out of here. During “Play that funky music, white boy”, someone I came very close to having fired just before Xmas (I have no executive powers to sack anyone), came to the floor and said hi to me, too. Last but not least, one of the band’s two singers is a newscaster by day, presenting the Principality TV’s English-language news.

Ha, beat THAT, New York. Eat the Outpost’s dust (it’s got plenty of the stuff, too).


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