1402 is a joke
Rocher Cappucino, latest offspring of the ambassador-spoiling chocolate treats, are
horrible. They appear to be standard Rocher with the added insertion of 20cc of gripewater.
Anyway, on other news, last night was a series of delightful interludes. Night before that,
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
slightlyfoxed and I girded on the armour of God and ventured out into the East. The Hackney Empire, to be exact, via chance meetings with
kitty_goth,
erestania and
blue_moon, in order of proximity and comprehensibility, for the Tsunami Relief show. There were worries expressed on the way about the gate, but the stalls at least seemed pretty packed, and I did my best to cover the event rental at the bar, despite a clear aversion on the part of the serving staff (class warfare or simple incompetence? You decide) to give three-piece a chance. In the end, I was reduced to slipping the more hipster-friendly
plumsbitch a fiver and a beseeching glance.
I left at the halfway point, figuring that a donation is a donation no matter how much you get out of it - this by no means a reflection on the quality of the evening, only the distance betwixt and between. Obligingly, the organisers put most of the acts I wanted to see - Mark Thomas, Rob Newman and Ida Barr - into the opening section, along with Incandescence (excellent winding-sheet gymnastics but could somebody please keep the bloody angle grinders down a bit) and Miss Behave (excellent sword-swallowing action; is there a local government ordnance, does anyone know, insisting that all House of Harlot-clad performance artistes do the same music-hall posh?) - well worth the price of entry in themselves. I'm sure the second half was also lovely, but by then glass traps were opening and closing on night flights.
