Irrational urges to go to Madam Tausauds in the middle of the night are keeping me awake. Why I feel the need to stare at a wax-work of Bruce Forsyth at 4am I don't know, but it's brought my attention to London's biggest lie.. The City That Never Sleeps. Many times pre lithium) I've got up in the middle of the night, got dressed, called a cab just to wander around town looking for somewhere still open, one time only finding Brian Tilsy from Corrie's club still open, dance till I dropped (alone, sober) before tucking myself back in again.
Just as there is happy hour, they should be bipolar hour, somewhere between 4 and 8am, for us to spin around the dance floor which is cornered off. Hmm.. maybe this could feature in my next letter to Boris Johnson.
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