After spending the early part of the afternoon in the company of birds, it was off across the Thames to pay a visit the the London Aquarium, where we stroke thornback, undulate and spotted rays before strolling along the South Bank to witness the human zoo surrounding David Blaine’s last day in captivity. It’s a strange evening – pickpockets are out in force, girls are shrieking, people are holding badly spelt signs aloft, and a small Chinese woman stops me to ask if the showman has actually been sleeping in the box. After I reply in the afirmative, she gives me a quizzical look and says, “Really? Where’s the fun in that?” After digesting probably the most astute comment I’ve heard about this entire circus, we stand in the cold for half an hour, but Blaine doesn’t pull any tricks. No rabbits from hats, nothing disappears, he doesn’t even saw anyone in half. What kind of magician is he? Rubbish, we think. Off home to watch his exit on TV and eat Chocolate mousse. Yummy.
For the last six weeks, Blaine’s actually been in a secret location shagging the lovely Debbie MacGee.
Now THAT’S magic!
You completed distracted me from what I was going to say with the mention of chocolate mousse. *licks lips*
That pastry girl is weasling her way into your heart through evil mousse concoctions. Should your female fans be happy or jealous?
Naaaah, the chocolate mousse was bought in a shop, not made by the flatmate. Any ‘female fans’ (if such people truly exist) have nothing to fear. Except fear itself, obviously, as Franklin D. Roosevelt so wisely pointed out, a fact alluded to by pompous Canadian prog-trio Rush on ‘The Weapon (Part II of ‘Fear’)’, taken from the hysterically overblown 1982 album ‘Signals.’
Phew.
We do truly exist!
awwwww.
I’ve just blogged about you today ;-)