I planned to go for a quiet drink but then a last minute spare ticket meant that I ended up attending the Last Tuesday Society Valentine’s Ball. It was quite extraordinary and good fun, I drank gin and threw soft toys at a maniac.
The best thing was an area with scantily clad ladies posing for you to draw them, so I sat, and wielding a red felt tip (honestly, get your mind out of the gutter), sketched away.
Well, one of the ladies was quite taken with my efforts and took a sketch of mine to hang in her room. She rewarded me by painting my lips bright red with a brush on lipstick. It was that sort of evening. Fun.
Who can help this poor little pig?
It was Chinese new year, a Sunday. Red lanterns hung like luscious ripe fruit above the bustling streets of Chinatown. Crowds of people gathered around writhing dragons and the clashing cymbals that were passing from business to business, to usher in the good fortune of the new year.
An icy wind flitted about the swarms of people, the night air was a chill electric blue.
I found warmth in the basement of a Soho eatery. And took in the soothing comfort of wine and food. The ice of outside was forgotten to the cosy drowse of contentment.
Later, climbing the stairs to leave, I came to see that the world had cocooned itself away, a pupae in virginal white, snow was falling densely in the london air.
Outside, Soho was empty and silent, an enchanted, slumbering world. The snow absorbing all sound. Footsteps crunched into the soft land, only to be forgotten by the new drifts.
The world seems innocent in the snow, a bride in her wedding dress. We are in wonder at her fragile beauty.
And, if a pupae, then spring is the butterfly that emerges from the silken shroud.