So, Saturday night in Paris.
So, three child free Mums on the loose.
So, three child free Mums being sensible and cultured and grown up and sophisticated.
Saturday night we hit
Yep, The Moulin Rouge in all it’s flamboyant, kitsch glory.
We didn’t book for the meal before the show, so when we arrived the place was absolutely packed.
Expecting to be crammed on to a shared table somewhere behind a pillar we were amazed to be shown to a tiny table for three, right beside the stage.
Two bottles of champagne later and the pre-show warm-up crooner, singing American Rat Pack toons in a strong French accent, sounded uncannily like This, though fortunately he was not that shade of yellow.
Just a shade of Leo Sayer circa 1976.
Then the show.
Oh my God.
I knew the Moulin Rouge was famous for the CanCan.
I hadn’t realised it was famous for the dancers dancing, erm, topless.
But after spending an afternoon similarly exposed in the Hammam, we were hardened, in a distinctly unBritish way, to such things.
We could greet them with a Gallic shrug.
And lots of eye contact.
The show is good fun.
It isn’t intellectual
Or high culture.
It’s a laugh
It’s pure entertainment
And it is distinctly and unmistakably French.
The theatre itself is slightly battered, slightly worn, but a wonderful example of fin de siècle architecture and interior design.
An architectural Grand Dame.
A stroll through the, erm, colourful Pigalle area
Ending up at a small bar
Listening to a budding Edith Piaf singing in the corner and drinking absinthe.