Drunk Review No1: Naked Boys Reading

Naked Boys Reading: The Moribund 4th Birthday Spectacular!

Thursday, 29th September 2016
Ace Hotel's Miranda Bar
http://nakedboysreading.com/events/

Naked Boys Reading was the funniest show I’ve ever seen.

There’s your headline and I could probably end this here.

What I had expected to be smutty, silly and awkward was in fact a slick, smart and incredibly well curated piece of performance art. I mean, it was also SO smutty, silly and awkward.

Let’s rewind.

A few years ago, I saw an advert for Naked Boys Reading as part of the Manchester Pride Fringe line up. Though my friendship circle was the gayest around we were also the laziest and so slammed shut the window of opportunity to see the marriage of my two favourite things: penises and literature.

Thankfully, 2016 is our year of “see it, do it” so when we saw Naked Boys Reading: 4^th Birthday advertised in Attitude, my finger was on the enter button. All puns intended.

Now is the time to introduce the host, my new favourite queen. Embodying all that drag has evolved into, Dr Sharon Husbands (think Carrie Bradshaw Season 5 with a beard) manoeuvred us through the show with the kind of dry sass and jaw-aching humour that make you feel gutted to leave the building without a signed contract for her to curate your life. I was also impressed to hear right away that she co-created this show herself; this isn’t just a string of readings from naked guys that you should ogle at, this has been researched, devised, attended to, and that makes it all the more genius.

My personal highlights:

The very first reader. The virgin experience. Scottish, attractive, Scottish (…know what I mean?) and a great orator. The perfect “oh my God where do I look? Am I allowed to look at it?” opening. His chosen work was Charlotte Perkins’ The Yellow Wallpaper, the extract from which was heart-breaking, if a little long.

The surprise vagina visit. Apparently infamous, eastern-European lesbian friend of the family, Bica, strode onto the stage to declare that “cunt is better. European cunt is even better” and read from James St James’ Disco Bloodbath. The movie Party Monster bored me before it ever really got going but this re-enactment of an after party spiralling into a desperate search for “that secretly stashed gram I’m certain we never finished last time” was delivered so on the mark that most of the audience was hiding their head in shame.

Alfie Ordinary: a naked man in full little-boy-doll make up. Terrifying, right? Not when you throw in a Whitney Houston puppet, a Whitney Houston medley, Diane Sawyer interviews Whitney Houston sound clips and a fuck tonne of confetti. I don’t feel qualified to put this into enough words for you to “get it” but I ask that you look up Alfie Ordinary. You shan’t regret.

Lastly, props to the final guy. Who’d have thought that providing a dramatic reading of Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ off your phone could be so funny? Okay I could probably have imagined already but this guy delivered.

We missed the boat on the next show (it was a river cruise, lol) but I’m determined to make this a regular feature in my life.

Also we were both hit on, as a couple. Great story for next time.

Soundbite summary: penises; Carrie Bradshaw; Whitney Houston; Kate Bush; Cocaine; funny lesbian; penises

"Tattu, and you?"

It’s a special occasion, you’re sexy twenty-something city dwellers and you want to earn bragging rights on Instagram…where do you go? To a trendy new bar with an ominous name and a website loaded with sophisticatedly dark interior shots, of course.

Though I walk through Spinningfields almost every day of the week I could not for the life of me remember seeing this “new fancy Chinese restaurant” anywhere. Ten minutes after strolling past The Oast House three times, and with Google Maps in hand, I was still none-the-wiser and the bottle of Prosecco we'd downed just before leaving refused to do anything other than add to the fog. Ged (birthday boy, partner in life and crime --->) was just on the edge of deciding that I'd fabricated the entire existence of this place when we spotted two burly bouncers hovering outside what looked like an entirely black glass wall at the very edge of Hardman Square. We approached with nervous caution and only when said bouncers pulled apart a galleon ship's wheel to usher us into a very dark foyer did we realise just how intimate an affair this was going to be. 

On first impression I was confused at how small the building was but was simultaneously distracted by the giant anchors, draped in flowers, hanging down from the roof and realised there’s a second floor. “This is the kind of joint that I need to be seen wandering through with a cocktail”, I thought. Said cocktails were not only reasonably priced at £7 - £10 (considering you could walk into any number of overpriced Canal Street bar and expect to be charged £7.50 for syrup-in-a-glass-masquerading-as-a-Mojito) they were abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous. I ordered a "Bambu - Baby Panda" and was treated to the cutest glass you've ever seen in your life. The restraint I had to muster just to hand it back to the waitress when I was done surely warrants a free meal. Or at the very least a free bamboo straw. As for the cocktail itself, I can only really remember it noting vanilla vodka as an ingredient but I'm pretty certain it was the spirit of life in liquid form, no joke. And the spirit of life tasted gooood. Ged ordered something with rum, I think, but who cares because he didn’t get a panda glass.

Being lead upstairs felt akin to be whisked away to a secret society; the narrow staircase was carved from dark wood and delicately lit by small lotus flowers cut out of the steps that tied in nicely with the great big blossom tree that stood proudly in the middle of the restaurant floor when we arrived at the top. It was pretty breath-taking to be honest. Once we’d taken our seats we were handed the two glasses of what I presume was sparkling rosé that Ged's friend (cheers Keebs) had ordered us from London. I say "presume" because I never actually found out what it was but as soon as I saw it was pink and fizzy I couldn't give a shit what it was, so sparkling rosé it is. 

  

So let’s talk about the food. We ordered Chicken and chilli Gau and Lobster and prawn toast for Dim sum. Ged fawned over the softness of the chicken and used his chopstick prowess to flirt with the waitress whilst I admired the crockery and tried to find the fastest way to get it in my mouth in one go. Next up was an incredibly succulent red roast baby chicken for Ged and melt-in-the-mouth lobster and prawn (get the theme here?) ginger noodles for me. The presentation was nothing short of beautiful; when I received my main and saw an entire lobster head staring at me I was delighted - sick right? - and couldn't wait to Instagram the shit out of it as the visual alternative of saying "yah yah look at me I drink sparkling wine and eat lobster, how's your Thursday?" 

The chicken was tender; the lobster was fresh and the prawns were like little creatures from heaven. My only complaint was an ever so slight lack of sauce on my noodles…but that didn’t stop me clearing my plate so much that it barely looked like I’d had a meal there in the first place.

 The cocktails and pink fizz (oh and the subsequent bottle of Pinot we ordered that I’ve only just remembered about) got us slowly drunker and drunker until I was convinced we were in the most high-tech restaurant that this city has to offer and had basically fallen in love. When I dried my hands under a neon green light I was so astounded by the atmosphere that I felt compelled to leave a note for myself. And, of course, washing your hands under the watchful eye of a gorgeous tattooed Chinese man is surely everyone's dream, no? Just mine?

  

To finish off, Ged's friend again apologised for her absence in true London city style by sending over the.most.incredible.brownie from 250 miles away. According to the waitress this dish isn't on the menu anymore so sucks to be all of you because LOOK AT IT! We offered to let her try a bite but she politely refused and said she's "not allowed", even after we drunkenly tried to force feed her and attempted to shield her from the eyes of her manager using a napkin as a decoy. Top marks to her for being great company throughout the evening. 

Even after the bill we kind of didn’t really want to leave in the end because what could have been a highly pretentious "concept" restaurant that relies on its image to sell seats actually turned out to be one of the best, most honest, dining experiences we've had. And we like to eat. The tables were dutifully waited on by a team of humble and happy staff who really believed in the brand, the food was almost under-priced for how good it was and you could see how someone’s vision had so carefully and lovingly been executed to create a truly unique atmosphere. In short: it was just really, really cool.