Le Betty Boop

Tonight we decided to round off the working week with a visit to a bar we'd yet to try, "Le Betty Boop." Perched on a corner overlooking a storm drain which cuts through the town centre, and adorned with red lights, the place had a tacky sleaziness which proved irresistible.

Luckily for us, tonight the bar was playing host to a local band - a group of four leather-clad fellows with mutton chops who played impressively authentic covers of hits from the fifties and sixties (think "Rock Around the Clock," "The House of the Rising Sun" and "Be-Bop-A-Lula"). Switching between guitars, harmonicas and the drums, the multi-talented musicians played pretty much non-stop for the three hours that we were there.

I'm proud to say that - although the entire bar was clearly enjoying the music - it was our little group who really brought the place to life, dancing frenetically in the middle of the packed little room in a shot-fuelled fug. The raucous foreigners drew much attention and our energy quickly infected the locals, including the barmaid/proprietor - a fun-loving woman with a cheeky grin and a large tattoo of Betty Boop on her right breast. She emerged from behind the bar with a mischievous wiggle and proceeded to dance with me, and we shouted the lyrics in eachother's faces as we bopped madly around the floor.

All in all, a superb evening of which I remember little - largely thanks to the naughty barmaid's home-made shooters, which had racey names befitting their creator. My favourite (perhaps unsurprisingly) was called "Sodomie," and came with a swirl of whipped cream and a free condom. Madame La Propriétaire asked me how my Sodomy was with a knowing wink, and I replied, "Delicious, as ever."