December 20, 2013

Panto Bar

Welcome to Panto Bar, secret hangout of underground Panto players. What? You didn’t know? Well it’s a secret innit?

Look over there, have you ever seen a more boffo Widow Twinky? Know the secret to her success? It’s as Giles Bradreth said, funny knees. If you haven’t got funny knees you’ll never be a Great Dame. Lyle’s stupendous. She’s got her Aladdin Sane, and I’ve mixed up a pitcher of Aladdin Lyle Delusionals for later in the evening. It’s the same drink but with more vodka.

Did I mention that I’ve only ever been to one pantomime in my entire life, and it was Aladdin at the Fredericton Playhouse when I was eight? I remember shouting and lights and screaming and coming home on a bus hired for the trip with a peanutbutter and jelly sandwich and a warm 7up. Try not to be blinded by the pathos and humour of that little anecdote. I’m Canadian. We don’t do pantomime. Wait, there’s Toronto but it doesn’t count because nobody knows their famous people—although Rob Ford could probably do a turn.

I digress

Clair’s been surrounded by charming young men all evening ever since she started drinking her Love Potion #9’s. She’s also attracted four rummy drummers, three French PEN supporters, two Turtle salesmen and Alan Partridge ‘s spare key. Steady on, Clair, leave room for afters.

Lisa’s right beside her with her Beauty and the Beast. She’s been deep in conversation with a candelabra for at least half an hour and neither one has cast any light on the subject. Ba-Dum-bah!

Graybo’s kindly brought a plate of mini carpetburgers and is nursing his Grey Goose and tonic. I think he’s a bit sad about his gruesome garden. Yes. He planted some seeds and they gruesome. Bang-Tish!

Tough crowd.

Karen’s armed herself with an Excalibur which  looks like an alcoholic sugar rush, which perhaps is just the thing for panto, given that their decibel levels can approach that of a 747 being escorted by a platoon of leafblowers.

Stuart‘s been up in the rigging with his Peter Pan for ages now. I think Krissa‘s Viking gluhwein something-or-other inspired him just a bit. It’s okay Stuart, she’s really Tinkerbell in disguise.  Americans don’t have pantos. Well, they do; they call it Tea Party in Congress, only nobody laughs.

I’ve got a pitcher of martinis set up over here in case K (aka Fran Giapani the mafia baker) and mike (DJ Freshly Pressed) show up.

And me? I’m a Puss with new boots, so I’ll have a Sour Puss and cranberry thanks.

All together now:
Knock Knock
Who’s there?
Wenceslas who?
Wenceslas train home?


4 thoughts on “Panto Bar

  1. Tea party joke: BADUM-CHING. Excellently executed, fellow North American.

    You joke about me being Tinkerbell, but Stuart has recently decided that I am actually an elf based on the following evidence: I’m small, tidy, twitchy, and overly festive.

  2. Also, if we’re singing carols during this most festive and raucous of happy hours, this seems an appropriate moment to point my fellow Uborkans towards the existence of “Misandrist Christmas Carols” published at the excellent website The Toast:

    (and also generally pointing y’all at The Toast for being one of the best new things created in 2013.)

  3. Based on nothing but hearsay evidence, I think you’d be stellar elf, and a powerful one too.

    Merry Festering One and All!

  4. I’m stuck in a children’s theatre watching a truly awful play about King Arthur, which I’m having to explain in whispers to the bored children. Make mine a double.

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