I like big girls so I don’t know why I like Honey so much. An almost child-like body, implacable face half-hidden behind long wavy honey-blonde hair. She is a fast dancer. The slow, quiet cinema-seated somnolence of the Sunset often seems to be reflected in the dancers; they prowl & pad around the stage in a languid, cat-like way & if they lie on their back a tad too long you suspect they have actually fallen asleep; Honey bounces around the stage like a baby kitten. As soon as a few men are standing at the back the atmosphere immediately seems to improve. The snowball fights it seems are just a distant memory. I am sure the poor chap who always had to come around afterwards looking for all the snowballs under the seats and between people’s feet is glad about that. It was good to see the place so packed. When Honey was on I thought she is the star of Sunset Strip; yet when Jolanda came on in her almost Stokerish see-through white dress, I thought, no, it is Jolanda; then when Melani was on I thought, no, of course it is Melani; but then Fernanda is so lovely; and “French beauty” Lilou is so stunning; oh, and Lana; and let’s not forget the electrifying Elektra who wasn’t even here tonight.
That, though, was only the start of my night of appalling debauchery. I wake up at 630AM the next morning, and just think “Shit”, still six hours until the pub opens again. What on Earth am I going to do for those six hours? They stretch ahead of me like an eternity. It is four hours until I can even get a McDonald’s Hamburger & Fries for breakfast.
Pondering obsessively on Simon’s “lost” weekend in Amsterdam, those still unaccounted for three days. I have become so hooked on his Around & Abouts that I now want every SECOND of his life accounted for. I am The Man with the Golden Arm, and for two, no more than TWO, days in a week, I am just shooting up, lost to the world in my strip addiction oblivion.
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