What happened when a group of semi-naked burlesque dancers knocked on a house door asking to have their photograph taken with a horse?
This is not the opening line of a joke or a cheap attempt to boost hits by luring perverts to the blog. It really happened. And it really happened to us last week.
As I was away working on the day in question what follows has been relayed by my breathless and sweaty 13 year old son who’s frankly not been the same since the incident. And of course my wife saw it all. What a waste.
It all started with a short but effective Facebook message which my son posted. It read : ‘Result! A strip club just came 2 our door askin if they can have some fotos in our field! Get In’
The impact was instant. A mix of incredulity and extreme disappointment that I was 100 miles away running a training course where, to be honest, any semi naked person would have lightened the day. And for an active recovering diabetic where all the enjoyment has been drained out of my life it was almost as upsetting as not being able to eat BK double whoppers any more.
And speaking of double whoppers, back to the burlesque act.
So this is what happened. We live over the road from the village hall which is available for hire. It caters for the usual groups- bridge; keep fit; art; parish council meetings and the annual panto. It’s very nice and I suspect value for money. Most crucially for this particular story it is out of the way and off the beaten track.
What may have appeared on the village hall booking sheet as ‘dance rehearsals’ turned out to be something slightly more provocative and revealing…literally.
So the entourage- rehearsing for a revue tour of Europe- rolled up at the house with an unusual request. My son, halfway through a bowl of Frosties was lucky enough to meet them at the door. He was confronted by several attractive young ladies dressed as ‘cowgirls’ accompanied by two effete men for which showbiz was always going to be a calling. When I say dressed I mean all the key areas were covered, but only just. Could they have their photographs taken with a horse for their brochure?
Yes, he replied breathlessly before heading up to his room and locking the door. The wife was called to the door who looked them up and down before agreeing.
They seemed respectable from the front but following the group down to the stables she then spotted a key collective wardrobe malfunction. They were wearing riding chaps but nowt else baring their cheeks to the world….and to two astonished tradesmen building a fence in the garden. My youngest son (11) also helpfully pointed this out. “They’ve forgotten to put their pants on Mum”.
The photographs were duly taken and the grateful entourage departed. Our brush with the glittering world of showbusiness was over.
I’m now back at home. As I write this I’m looking over at the village hall from the window. Sadly no cowgirls….just the regular art class. Perhaps it’s just as well. I’m in a fragile food deprived state. But I’m going to prepare the potting shed just in case they want a shot of me with my dibber.
So when you find yourself in a ropey nightclub in Cyprus this summer and are entertained by a burlesque troupe dressed as gardeners with peek a boo dungarees and smelling of pony manure you’ll know where the act was fine tuned.