In honour of St Kirsty we are dancing the Mambo de la Luna this evening. There's no moon just yet but Mars is burning red overhead, so it'll do while we kick around waiting for moonrise.
Unfortunately, we will be unable to find "a bar that stays open all night", in accordance with the sacred lyrics of "Until the Night". Boris Johnson said they all had to close five minutes ago. This is also bad news for anyone planning to see in Christmas with the Boys of the NYPD Choir. Even if the NYPD Choir existed. Which it doesn't.
So we mark the 61st anniversary of St Kirst's birth. And wonder what vitriol she would have poured on ageing lotharios and fading lovers in these titanic days. We will never know. We do know what pretty girls do. They grow older just like everbody else. Though not this one.
Somewhere Terry is doing his Marlon Brando act. Another useless bloke is claiming he's Elvis, and tomorrow a Big Boy on a Saturday Night will be feeling a bit rubbish cos the pubs are chucking out early.
God bless you, Kirsty. Somewhere there's sun on the water.
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