Thursday – I Will NEVER Survive Summer Of ’69
The missus and I hit a club for probably the first time since the offspring’s arrival. Or rather , it hit us. The last time we’d visited this Asian nightclub , the Sri Lankan house band there had been really good. Things change . This band’s changed. New look , new line up , new output.
Bad output.
Now , I am as staunch a feminist as any but I draw a line at I Will Survive . The ease with which Madame Crooner turned this admittedly minor irritant into a major crime against humanity would rattle even the most battle hardened of bra burners. And when the rhythm guitarist / backing vocalist (whose off-key harmonies were always war clouds on the horizon) took center stage and unleashed Bryan Adams , it was made amply clear just how the very worst of my life these days really are .
The outing to this club had one very desirable outcome : it ended.
We stumbled some distance across town to a Brit Pub. The average table occupancy was around 30% . The average age of the customers was around 96 years which made me feel rather rum (the better half’s throat was feeling the beverage all evening anyway). Nothing like being youngest in a crowd – especially when you can’t remember the last time that happened ! One of the regulars joined the guitarist on stage and sang – quick , pinch yourself - Love Me Do. And , given the evening that had unfolded before this , we love him did. What’s more , I clean lasted Comfortably Numb , even going so far as to last it with a benevolent smile. In all fairness , the guitarist was decent. The Guinness was excellent.
Friday – Ram Gopal Varma ki UGH
Next evening was Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag. Hand it to Ramu : the man has intestine enough to tag his name for posterity to a piece of utter rubbish. This monumental three- hour waste of time , popcorn and cola calories compares to Sholay the way grapefruit compare to scooter mileage. Ramu is now in serious danger of outdoing M.Night who took around five years to get from Sixth Sense to nonsense. For Varma , its now Satya to nothing in nine. Buckle up Ramu : we’re behind you - though probably not in front of the ticket counter next time around.
Saturday – in which Aleem gives it to those ones (and those ones accept it well)
And thence on to Lord’s. Where Foreign Finger sowed the initial seed of instability and the players thereupon proceeded to lovingly tend it to its natural fruitation. Yet another Finals story in the annals of Indian cricket. Not to read too much into an ODI series (especially in light of the Test series victory ) but an undeniable KLPD all the same. Having preferred - out of sheer superstition - to stay put at my desk over the choice of popping across with my colleagues to the building next door to watch the final five overs of the previous game , having subsequently lounged back in smug satisfaction at this act of willing fate to set up the series for a weekend decider and having spent Saturday morning expending copious quanta of Joie de Vivre , this was a KL that took a bit of recovering from.
Hmm , what could be worse ? Babban playing for India as Heroo threatens to jump from the Lord's media centre and Ghungroo sings I Will Survive ?
Possibly , possibly.
The missus and I hit a club for probably the first time since the offspring’s arrival. Or rather , it hit us. The last time we’d visited this Asian nightclub , the Sri Lankan house band there had been really good. Things change . This band’s changed. New look , new line up , new output.
Bad output.
Now , I am as staunch a feminist as any but I draw a line at I Will Survive . The ease with which Madame Crooner turned this admittedly minor irritant into a major crime against humanity would rattle even the most battle hardened of bra burners. And when the rhythm guitarist / backing vocalist (whose off-key harmonies were always war clouds on the horizon) took center stage and unleashed Bryan Adams , it was made amply clear just how the very worst of my life these days really are .
The outing to this club had one very desirable outcome : it ended.
We stumbled some distance across town to a Brit Pub. The average table occupancy was around 30% . The average age of the customers was around 96 years which made me feel rather rum (the better half’s throat was feeling the beverage all evening anyway). Nothing like being youngest in a crowd – especially when you can’t remember the last time that happened ! One of the regulars joined the guitarist on stage and sang – quick , pinch yourself - Love Me Do. And , given the evening that had unfolded before this , we love him did. What’s more , I clean lasted Comfortably Numb , even going so far as to last it with a benevolent smile. In all fairness , the guitarist was decent. The Guinness was excellent.
Friday – Ram Gopal Varma ki UGH
Next evening was Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag. Hand it to Ramu : the man has intestine enough to tag his name for posterity to a piece of utter rubbish. This monumental three- hour waste of time , popcorn and cola calories compares to Sholay the way grapefruit compare to scooter mileage. Ramu is now in serious danger of outdoing M.Night who took around five years to get from Sixth Sense to nonsense. For Varma , its now Satya to nothing in nine. Buckle up Ramu : we’re behind you - though probably not in front of the ticket counter next time around.
Saturday – in which Aleem gives it to those ones (and those ones accept it well)
And thence on to Lord’s. Where Foreign Finger sowed the initial seed of instability and the players thereupon proceeded to lovingly tend it to its natural fruitation. Yet another Finals story in the annals of Indian cricket. Not to read too much into an ODI series (especially in light of the Test series victory ) but an undeniable KLPD all the same. Having preferred - out of sheer superstition - to stay put at my desk over the choice of popping across with my colleagues to the building next door to watch the final five overs of the previous game , having subsequently lounged back in smug satisfaction at this act of willing fate to set up the series for a weekend decider and having spent Saturday morning expending copious quanta of Joie de Vivre , this was a KL that took a bit of recovering from.
Hmm , what could be worse ? Babban playing for India as Heroo threatens to jump from the Lord's media centre and Ghungroo sings I Will Survive ?
Possibly , possibly.
