Sunday, 15th of April

Clerkenwell again last night, to see Elvina. Truly it’s hard to believe that it was this year I saw her for the first time. It feels like she’s been in my life for so long – I dream about her for god’s sake – that it’s difficult to conceive that if it wasn’t for a mate’s birthday party this January, I’d never have seen her at all.
She moves languidly and confidently onto the small stage; her hair shaped to a quiff, her lip curled up and sexiness sparkling in her eyes. Hers is the Elvis outfit by way of Victoria’s Secret. It’s white and rhinestoned, but she doesn’t wear flares, instead she shows herself off in hot-pants. On display is a pair of long, supple and toned thighs in sheer tights, leading up to a gorgeous, round behind. When she sticks out her bum it really is a thing of wonder. Around her midriff is a belt buckle with ‘TCB’ carved elegantly in gold, while stretching out above it is the Vegas large collar. Like Elvis’s version, this garment is low cut down the chest. Unlike Elvis’s version, what the audience is treated to is a magnificent, milky cleavage. It’s a phenomenal get up, and you can always tell those who’ve never seen her before. Their eyes bulge so far from their heads it’s like their having a coronary.

So Elvina is sexy, but also fantastically beautiful – her sharp cheekbones, pouting lips and wide brown eyes making her the most feminine and pretty Elvis.

Her appearance is stunning enough, but then she performs.

Last night she seemed determined to make the hearts of everyone there pump faster and faster. She started off slowly with ‘Always on My Mind’, purring out the song as she moved with tantalising precision across the stage, stretching herself into various incredibly sexy poses that she held for an almost indecent amount of time. The ballads came first, then the mid paced numbers ('The Wonder of You'; 'Heartbreak Hotel') where she claimed the front of the stage and took control – standing with her feet slightly apart and her head held high in such a powerful pose. She belted out the tunes seemingly knowing that she was the most important person in the room, the most important person in London. Then she got really fast and danced around the stage in a way I haven’t really seen before. ‘King Creole’ and ‘Viva Las Vegas’ boomed out with her legs kicking and her breasts jiggling. It was a phenomenal show, and at the end the crowd had to stop drooling to remember to clap.

I think it was the best performance I’ve ever seen her give. Strangely though the place wasn’t as busy as last week, and after the set she cut her way through the crowd back to her dressing room – a bouncer just at her shoulder to make sure that no pinching fingers reached out for her.

Adrenalin pumped through me as I knew I only had seconds, but I stood in front of her.

“Elvina,” I called.

She looked at me, her fact flat, not wanting to encourage any lunatic.

I talked quickly. “Hi. I’ve seen your show.”

“I know,” her eyebrow raised. Was that because she’s seen me in the crowd before, or just because I’m in the venue just after she’s just come off stage? Obviously the latter, of course she knows I’ve seen her show.

The seconds were ticking but I tried not to garble my words. “Do you ever Google yourself?”

The eyebrow raised again.

“You should do,” I told her. “Put in your name and ‘Clerkenwell’ and look at the blogs. Let me know what you think, I’m here a lot of Saturdays.”

And with that I let her go. She walked determinedly away without looking back. Clearly she thinks I’m odd, but if she reads this blog – and she understands it – then maybe, Elvina, we can have a conversation.

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.

January the 8th, 2012

My birthday! My fucking birthday!
I should be happy, and yet something feels wrong.
I actually share my birthday with Elvis Presley, David Bowie, Dame Shirley Bassey and Stephen Hawking. So even though I have a new novel coming out – my second – I don’t feel like I truly fit in. Who am I after all? Just a bloke who wrote one horror novel which did the bottom end of okay, and is now putting out another one which he can only hope does better. (Will this blog help? It seems to have taken an odd detour from book promotion, doesn’t it?) I don’t yet deserve to be part of such an elite club and maybe I never will, but that’s not why I’m somewhat downbeat.
I’ve not heard from Alison so far today. There’s been no birthday card, no birthday text, no smiley Aussie face on Skype. I even texted her to see what time she would be free for a chat, but have had no response. What is going on? Things seemed to be going well. When I spoke to her in the week it was all flirty and happy, looking forward to her coming back to the UK. And now, well, she’s not even sent me a birthday message. Maybe something has happened, maybe she has been caught up somewhere. But where? What could have taken place? It is most bizarre and I’m somewhat worried.
My parents and my sister rang up with best wishes (I really must go and see them soon) and I’ve had cards and messages from friends. This year I’ve done little more to celebrate than just stay in my flat and receive phone-calls. For whatever reason – even though my birthday is on a weekend – I couldn’t be bothered with the big celebration. Right now I’d rather just be by myself.
No dreams last night, thank god, but that mugging keeps replaying in my mind. How stupid was I to behave like that over a wallet which had at most twenty quid in it. All in all I’m glad I’ve made it to 37, but what does the next year hold?