The Long Road to Gin Gin

Is there anywhere the intrepid Ladies of the Lane won't go in search of gin?  This time Australia beckoned, and as well as the usual hot sunny beaches, the chucking of shrimps on barbies and messing about on boats, one lady spent a significant amount of time on the hunt for gin.

Gin round-up-down-under?  Well.

Gordon's on the plane, Gordon's in the hotel bar (truthfully, the only novelty here was the fondly remembered old red and yellow packaging last seen in the UK many moons ago), Tanqueray and Hendrick's available in most bars, a worrying trend toward pre-mixed Gordon's in bottles.  Sorry Gordon's, we love you, but this tasted more like a Jif and Tonic...

The perfect Martini sipping opportunity arose whilst watching a silent Three Musketeers in The Majestic - a glorious 1920s theatre in isolated Pomona.  Alas, this Lady had learned her lesson and refused a pre-mixed can of G&T, but if the wonderful Ron who played the accompanying organ is reading this; we'd love vintage cocktails next time.

And finally, was a trip to the temptingly named Gin Gin necessary?  Saved by Google we discovered Gin Gin wasn't the town of dreams with gin pouring from the taps like water, but an Aboriginal term for thick red soil.  Nasty soil and tonic situation averted, and the search for gin continued further north...


(stay tuned for the further adventures of our Lady in Oz...)

Spirit forces at work at the Hendrick's Quarterly Seance

Is anybody there?  We're getting a name.  It's, it's... it's Hendrick's.  We never miss the chance to channel spirits, so earlier this very evening the Ladies were in attendance at the Hendrick's Quarterly Seance, held at the Little Shop of Horrors, the Last Tuesday Society's bonkers headquarters in east London.

You may recall our last brush with the cross-dressing, cucumber-wielding, glory-holed Last Tuesday Society bunch at the Hendrick's masked ball back in September.  This encounter was no less strange, held in the esteemed Viktor Wynd's showroom; a jumble of mutilated soft toys, animal skeletons, mummified penises and other such glorious tat.  All available to purchase, for that perfect stocking filler for Nan.

After a warm greeting from Mr Wynd himself, and a generous offer to see his penis (see 'mummified' above, thank heavens), we were led into a back room by Professor Richard Wiseman and swiftly transported, via a double Hendrick's and tonic, to a reenactment of a Victorian seance.  Sat in total darkness, guided only by little glow-in-the-dark stickers on the incongruous selection of objects scattered on the table, we marveled as our new spirit friend 'Marie' touched the bell (snigger), moved the maracas (chortle) and had a good old play with the ball (snort).

Keep your eye out for more loony goings-on on the Last Tuesday Society website.  Reckon we might stick to the alcoholic spirits from now on though.

Masks obligatory, clothes optional, Hendrick's essential

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