......then have your summer holiday in dear old Blighty! As I write this I can hear screams from next door as another BBQ comes to an abrupt end and my neighbours are trying to rescue soggy sausages and damp drumsticks as the UK summer once again proves that global warming is complete bollocks.
There's something terribly British about outdoor eating in drizzle. Like taking windbreaks to the beach.
I'm really starting to regret not heading to the Med with my mates this year. The first night of my holiday was spent alone with a bottle of Merlot and my TiVo box. It wasn't as Bridget Jones as it sounds though. After catching up on Torchwood, Betty and I were dancing round the house to Example, Lady Gaga and a medley of 80's grooves. OK so maybe dancing with your dog on a Friday night is a bit sad but at least she doesn't get moody the next day when I wake up with a hangover or insist on making as much noise as possible to make my long lie in bed impossible.
That's what's so cool about dogs. They love you no matter what. I hope she still feels like that this week after I take her to the vet to have her puppy bearing tubes snipped. I feel really guilty even typing that!
Last week there was a pretty momentous occasion. It's been 30 years since Bucks Fizz won the Eurovision Song Contest and had their first million selling worldwide hit with Making Your Mind Up. To celebrate we went to their charity concert at the London Palladium.
Our excitement was doused when we arrived at Victoria Station to find that the Underground was closed due to overcrowding on the platforms. I love London but why is public transport in the capital so crap? Heaven help us when we're invaded by the world for the 2012 Olympic Games. The only way this is going to work is if they tell everyone to stay at home for three weeks.
The queue for taxis was round the block so we decided to take a bus. A bored looking policeman directed us to the right bus stop and we joined a group of agitated commuters all shouting into their iPhones or staring blankly at route maps.
It wasn't long before our bus arrived. It was one of Ken's bendy buses and we dived on and managed to get a seat after elbowing a couple of Chinese tourists out of the way. Commuting in London is survival of the fittest and I was having that seat bitch!
As the bus filled up, the smell of sour sweat and stale beer increased. I tried not to inhale the pungent fumes but all I could see was these damp armpits swinging around in front of me like a load of rotting carcasses in a slaughter house. It was really hard to suppress the gag reflex. The traffic was almost at a stand still so there was no chance of getting a bit of a breeze in the coach to freshen the air. The fat bloke next to me smelled like a rotting Big Mac that had been sprayed with Lynx.
We eventually arrived at our destination after several seemingly pointless diversions and met up with our gang outside the Palladium. The place was buzzing with more bald heads and A&F t-shirts than I've seen since Brighton Pride Weekend. The queue for souvenirs was massive. A load of Friends of Dorothy all emptying their Ted Baker wallets to buy gingham mugs, ruby slippers and Toto t-shirts from the Wizard of Oz shop. How could the Bucks Fizz programmes compete!
We fought our way to the bar and handed over £24 for 4 drinks. £24! No wonder tourism in London is struggling. When I first started work my weekly wage was £13. That was enough to pay my Mum, go to work, be a fashion icon and have at least two big night's out every weekend!
After four £24 rounds we headed into the beautiful theatre for Bjorn Again. If you've not seen this band you must! They've been around for years but never fail to get everyone singing and dancing to the fabulous songs of the Swedish Pop Gods. Benny & Bjorn really knew how to write 'hooks' that would appeal to the masses. I guess they were The Beatles of the 70's.
When we found our seats we found another problem. This being a charity show there were a lot of people that had been brought here by Sunshine Coaches. As we edged into the row Mr T suddenly realised he was sitting next to someone with Saint Vitus Dance Syndrome. He spent the rest of the evening ducking and diving to avoid a smack in the face from his zealous neighbour.
The lights dimmed and after a pre-concert video prelude, Bucks Fizz were on and they were really on! Great vocals and tight harmonies. I'd forgotten how many great hits they'd had.
That said I think the wardrobe department must have been a couple of myopic drunks. OMG where did they dig up those outfits. Mike Nolan looked like a cross between Freddy Starr and a snooker ref. There mustn't have been a full length mirror in the dressing rooms. It's the only excuse for his grey tartan bondage trousers. Why didn't Cheryl & Jay tell him?
Jay didn't escape the wardrobe disaster. During her big solo number she was raised up by two hefty dancers with flat feet and the bottom half of her white plastic dress fell off. Luckily she was wearing nice pants and just carried on regardless. A true professional. She made it look like it was all part of the act. I mean they're well known for whipping their skirts off at every opportunity.
Cheryl's costumes were less pantomime but still a bit like your Mum going to the office Christmas party. Bless her.
Bucks Fizz never claimed to be fashion icons and it was good to see that after 30 years they still revel in their lack of style. The true magic of Bucks Fizz is the songs. Perfect, shameless pop with a hint of camp.
Talking of camp. The male dance troupe was probably a good idea and raised loud cheers every time they whipped their tops off. I just wish they'd all been doing the same choreography. Half of them looked like they were just making it up as they went along and a couple of beefy guys on the end seemed to have been thrown in to make up the numbers. They were completely out of place and like two security guards who'd been squeezed into lycra leggins and pushed on stage when the real dancers phoned in sick.
The hits kept coming and the audience was on it's feet. Dancing and singing along in gay abandon.
We then watched an emotional video about the fateful bus crash outside Newcastle that nearly ended the life of Mike Nolan and ended Jay's time in the band. There wasn't a dry eye in the place. It was like watching one of those X Factor sob stories only this was real. They've had an incredible journey over the last 30 years and it's just a shame that the 4th member of the group wasn't there to celebrate. Apparently he's too busy trawling his own version of Bucks Fizz around caravan parks in the West Country and wasting his nest egg on pointless copyright court cases.
Tonight, this Bucks Fizz were as real as it was ever going to get and the crowd were loving every minute of it. Two hours later and we're in the Land of Make Believe with fake snow and giant mirror balls. Magic! The encore was obvious. Making Your Mind Up was a perfect end to the night but Jay and Cheryl kept their skirts on this time. Tonight it was the male dancers who lost their clothes yet again at the appropriate moment. The two security guards missed their cue once more and their clothes fell off 4 bars later.
What a brilliant night. Cheryl, Jay & Mike were fantastic. I wish them good luck with the next court case.
We left the London Palladium with beaming smiles but our joy was short lived as we descended the steps to Hell. London Underground should supply customers with oxygen masks, water and a can of Magicool during the summer. Oh and anyone wearing Lynx body spray should be forced to make alternative travel arrangements. Try a bike or better still......have a bloody shower before you set off.
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