Dancing with Dame Thora

• 10th Mar 2008

Last night, having abandoned a rather dull and uninteresting gig, I drunkenly found myself staggering towards The Tiger Lounge – a Manchester bar for hip young creative types.

I managed to get through the doors, passing the usually diligent bouncers without incident, and ordered myself a drink. Well, low and behold! Who was stood next to me at the bar but Dame Thora Hird!

Presumed dead for over five years, Dame Thora was looking very well indeed. Squeezed into a little black number with a silk scarf draped around her neck, she was downing flaming sambucas and flirting with bar staff.

I couldn't help but say hello. Dame Thora didn't seem to hear me though and left to rejoin her friends; a gaggle of young follies with peroxide hair, drinking alcopops.

I stayed for another hour or so, drinking by myself, and was about to leave when Nena's '99 Red Balloons' blasted out through the speakers. Everyone rushed to the small dance area and I followed suit. I had a wee boogie, turned, and bumped straight into the gyrating Dame Thora.

I smiled, did a little shuffle, and leant in to speak. She cut me off straight away with her hand and told me to fuck off.

That's celebrities for you: self-important tossers.