January the 15th, 2012

I went to my friend Roberto’s birthday party last night. He gathered together various chums, acquaintances and other assorted well-wishers for drinks in Clerkenwell. If I’m honest I’m not sure I was really looking forward to it, but it turned out to be just the kind of night I needed – drunken, lots of laughs and the chance to get out of my head.
The bar we went to had the most incredible entertainment. When Roberto told me they had an Elvis impersonator, I must confess I rolled my eyes. Now I don’t mind Elvis, but find the rare impersonators I’ve seen to be shabby and unconvincing – more comic turns than tributes. However I’d never witnessed an Elvis impersonator like this.

For a start it was a woman – Elvina, she called herself – and the most incredible woman. Once the spotlight shone, she appeared on stage in the Jessica Rabbit version of the 70s white jumpsuit.  It was white and rhinestoned, but she didn’t wear flares, she wore hot-pants. On display was a gorgeous pair of supple and toned legs in sheer tights, leading up to a perfect peachy bum. Around her midriff was a belt buckle with ‘TCB’ written on it, and above that was the requisite large collar. But like Elvis’s version, this garment was low cut and what was truly eye-catching was the magnificent, milky cleavage. It was an incredible outfit, and when she appeared on stage there was a moment of stunned silence followed by wolfish applause.

She was sexy, but also quite beautiful. Her sharp cheekbones, pouting lips and wide brown eyes gave her the air of a feminine, prettier Elvis. Her dark hair was styled in a shorter approximation of a quiff, which ensured her a certain sense of androgyny. All of this was jaw-dropping enough, but then she performed.

Each of the numbers was slower than the original Elvis, and much more flirtatious. She slinked across the stage knowing when to move her hip suggestively or stretch herself back (to full-on applause each time). Every number used the combination of her smoky, come-to-bed voice, and the sheer magnificence of her physicality to create a pulse-racing crescendo, even if the tempo stayed slow.

She took three encores, but it still wasn’t enough. I must go back there again.

Alison should be returning to London today, though I went to bed last night thinking of a much different woman.