Tonight you’ll finally get what you’ve paid for.

My friend S. and I have recently decided that 2012 should be all about New Experiences. Mainly because …
a) We only live once.
b) We’re not getting any younger. Let’s face it, there will come a time when I will no longer be able to use my favourite excuse in the world: “But I’m still young!”  
c) Since we’re putting up with London’s workaholic culture and expensive rents, we should really take advantage of the good things the capital has to offer.

We’ve been wanting to see a musical, and we’ve been wanting to go to a male strip club. Then, yippeee, I found a theatre show that combines both: Naked Boys Singing at the Charing Cross Theatre. We bought cheap tickets for £12.50 on lastminute.com, so I wasn’t expecting much. Oh boy, did we get our money’s worth. It’s a small theatre and we sat in the fourth row! Let me summarize in two words: FULL. FRONTAL.
If that didn’t entice you to buy a ticket, here’s the official marketing blurb:

“Naked Boys Singing! is a musical comedy revue featuring an original score of 16 songs celebrating the splendours of male nudity. This perfectly proportioned 70-minute review features 7 good-looking and talented male actors celebrating the glories of the naked male body through a series of catchy, pithy cabaret numbers, both funny and poignant.”

Yawny, yawny … Did I just spot the word poignant? Is that the compulsory term which has to appear in every book / theatre / movie review these days? How is a bunch of naked guys performing tap routines poignant? It’s just plain hilarious.

For obvious reasons, they don’t let people in the audience take photos during the performance, but I found a clip on YouTube which gives you a snapshot of the show.

Official trailer of the show, which originally started in New York

So, as you can see, the night started off well and it just kept getting better and better. The Charing Cross Theatre has an amazing little bar upstairs with live piano music. We sat down with a few glasses of white wine and started chatting up strangers. That’s how I met nerdy Mr. C. Just like me, Mr C. wore glasses, which was a good start. We wrote many silly requests for the piano man together. We exchanged music recommendations. And then we exchanged life philosophies. I gave him mine (“The beginner’s mind is a beautiful place to come from.” and “Happiness is a myth. It was invented to make us buy things.”) and he gave me his – here they are:

Isn’t that just super-sweet? Later on, Mr. C asked for my phone number. I wrote down: “999. I met a girl last night and I’m dying to see her.” You see, there were some irreconcilable differences between us. Mr. C and I swapped our glasses (in that boastful “my prescription is stronger than yours” way that only bespectacled people understand) and as soon as I tried his specs on, I yelled out: “OMG, you are long sighted!!!” Seriously, how can anyone under the age of 60 be long sighted? In my drunken state of mind, this signalled: NOT SOULMATE. And so I decided not to give him my phone number. I have principles. Besides, I had seen enough naked boys for one evening.

Meanwhile, my poor friend S. was stuck talking to Mr. C’s best friend who was apparently a bit boring. But, on the plus side, at least he was a smoker and he bought her drinks.

We went home late, verrrry late. I fell asleep on the night bus and woke up several stops after the bus had passed my house. Oooops. This hadn’t happened to me in years, I swear. I had just enough cash in my wallet to grab a taxi ride home … and all was good in my world, at 3.30am, with Mr. C’s philosophies safely folded away in my back pocket.

Smile. xxx