CANTINAUGHTY

It is Thursday once again and thank goodness I seem to have learnt something new [lord knows how].

ONE] Cantina at Southbank is better than the shows you've seen this year: Fact. I was lucky enough to be
         bought a ticket and taken down to the beach-side resort that is Southbank [until the end of September].
         As soon as you walk under an unassuming sign you enter into a world of 1930s ish-beachy-fairground

         mania; bar stools replaced by bumpercars, lager taps replaced by Pimms taps [i'm not even lying], and

         jeans replaced by petticoats and frilly socks. I knew i'd enjoy this performance even before I stepped into
         the Carnivàle-style tent, complete with a swinging '5 minutes 'til the start of the show' sigs, suspended on
         a trapeze, slowly making its way from one end of the tent to the other. Then the music began. One man
         and his ukulele [no innuendo intended], jollying us all into what was to become a sort of time-travelling
         experience with a touring band of very talented contortionists etc At one point one of the ladies began

         walking all over [and by 'over' I mean 'on top of very vigorously and slowly'] one of the gentlemen
         performers. Yes, the stiletto heels were dug into places unimaginable without a squirm, ending in an

         unbelievable display of complete bodily strength. Without giving too much away, there is nudity, hangings, 

         breathless moments and music that instantly transports you to the 1930s [or is it 1920s. The music I
         forget. The hair and interior design I do not.] Please do not however [under any circumstances] watch this
         performance if:

                 a] you are squeamish. We're not talking blood here. Everything but that.

                 b] you're one of those people who does the opposite of important statements like "Don't try this at
                     home." If you value your life, i'd sit this one out.

                 c] you don't like curly bobs, braces and muscly women.

       As soon as the show stopped I wanted to learn every gymnastics stunt known to man. Then I went for

       dinner.

       Prices for the show range from £50 to £10 ending on Sunday 30th September. HURRY!!

The entrance to the tent. Why can't the entrance to my room look like this?

During the performance I heard screams. I thought it was the tiger at the back of the tent
having a human feast. It wasn't.

TWO] Prince Harry likes to get naked: We already know he likes to dress up as autonomous, infamous
         Germans, and now we know he likes to get naked. This story wasn't so much shocking as it was
         annoying. Annoying for one reason: I couldn't work out whether I felt sorry for him or whether I thought
         he was completely ridiculous. On the one hand he wants to have fun in the playground with all the other
         twenty-something children. Nothing abnormal here. Just acting his age. On the other hand HE'S IN LINE

         TO THE THRONE OF ENGLAND. Well there you have it. Decision made. With great wealth [and a crown]

         comes great responsibility [and journo-dodging].

I'm not sure he needs any more of this suspicious-looking drink.

THREE] My chilis are taking over my bedroom: I mean they aren't physically growing arms and throwing things
             at me whilst sitting in their bamboo thrones, they're just growing a LOT and this has made me a very
             proud chili-mamma.

They may not be tall, but my goodness their leaves are large.

I know, you can't believe your eyes yeah? 

And whilst I may ignore the fact that my plants have spawned no actual, tangible chilis, I can not ignore the fact that tomorrow is Friday, the day of fry [chips will be eaten], and the beginning of another weekend [thank goodness].

I'll be back in seven [days] with some more things that i'm bound to have learnt this weekend in Birmingham.

STANLEY