“I’m going to Berlin on Saturday”, I informed my mate at tai chi last night, explaining my up-coming absence tomorrow. “Are you going in a Lancaster?” he inquired. Which is a bit ‘don’t mention the war’ but I thought rather funny at the time.

In fact I’m going EasyJet. Pretty sure its not a bomber, but ya never know. You can never have too much orange in your life. And you get the opportunity to get up ridiculously early, leaving home in the pitch black of night to arrive at Lovely Luton for a 6-hour delay. I hope not. We have places to go, things to do, all of paramount importance.

Because tomorrow the younger daughter is emigrating. Well, she’s going to work in Berlin for a bit anyway. So Mel & I need to accompany her and ensure she stays. And to carry bags. And such bags. Of such magnitude. Such weight. You know how a ‘black hole’ is an infinitely small point with an infinitely large mass? Well that’s how Rachie packs. I’m only worried that the big case may exert a gravitational pull on cars on the M1.

Oddly, this photo, so wonderfully appropriate, was taken last week in Melbourne. As in ‘Australia’. Why they have a ‘Berlin Bar’ there I don’t know.

I’m gonna miss her.

Ok, I’m over it already. Did you hear about the Windmill Club? Or Windmill Theatre?? Whatever its now called. The first place ever to have naked women on its stage. In the 1920s, opened by a woman (the famous/infamous Mrs Henderson) and the condition was that the women weren’t allowed to move. Ok, breathing was acceptable but like statues didst they stand. Because then it was ‘art’. Twitch a toe and it becomes ‘pornography’. And the Windmill has run as some form of, basically, strip club, ever since. Most recently as a ‘table dancing’ or ‘lap dancing’ establishment of the highest standards and culcha. But now its lost its license. Because what a ‘sex club license’ allows you to do is lots of things, except actually selling sex. You can imply, you can tease, you can pretend, you can do all sorts of things but to be legal, like with mobile phones in cars, it has to be ‘hands free’. You can simulate but not stimulate. Once any fondlage occurs there’s trouble. And they found not merely fondlage, but virtually fornication occurring on or nearby the premises (upstairs). So their license is now revoked.

The Windmill famously never closed during the war-time blanket bombing by the Nazis of London. ‘Even during the Blitz; come see the Titz’ could have been their slogan. But now it will close because a bunch of feminists are objectionably objecting to the objectification of women. And have therefore forced closure by illuminating naughtiness. Even though everything that happens there is mutually consensual, mutually beneficial and a way for their ‘sisters’ to enjoy a job that probably pays quite well. Which they’ll now take to the streets. There’s always that argument that women flaunting their bodies (and whatever else they choose to do with them) is not objectification but ’empowerment’. Obviously not in this case.

Oh well. I feel this act will do little to ‘end’ sleazy sex trade in London. I hope not.

Happy Friday

A xxxx