Choosing between flying to Los Angeles for the Oscars, or driving to Blackpool
Back in November I wrote about finding the exotic in York. A theme may be developing – I spotted this in the New Statesman and thought that it was worth sharing.
Last weekend I had to choose between
flying to Los Angeles for the Oscars, or driving to Blackpool. Naturally
I chose the latter. We saw an exhilarating cabaret production at Funny
Girls, one of the town's star attractions. A sparsely populated 1970s
concert hall, where the average age was about 80, cheered as butch
transvestites danced to Abba classics and twirled pompoms and peacock
feathers. It felt somewhere between a lost world of vaudeville and Peter
Kay's magnificent Phoenix Nights. For �14 you get the best
seats in the house and a flirtatious waiter (ours may have been a
eunuch). Damp seaside towns will always be among the great thrills of
England and they beat cavorting with the giant egos of LA any day.
Eugeny Lebvedev is the son of the Russian tycoon Alexander Lebedev and chairman of the Evenign Standard and of Independent newspapers.