Cabaret

The Hungarrian calls. Thought he might.

Ma Divertimento's nae aboot bees, lassie, he says.

Oh, yes it is, I say.

Och noo, it isn'a.

Well, we go on like this for a while, and he tries to explain that his Divertimento is about joy, terror and absurdity. I say that it amounts to the same thing.

We become amicable. I tell him about VulgarGrad, at the Cabaret Festival last night, their Russian blatnyak songs, of thieves and criminals, their vodka-fuelled oompah swing ska polka punk gulag style. I tell him how much Nostradamus and I liked it, and that I think he would have liked it too.

Aye, ah would ha' , he says. But ye noo, I'm nae a Rooski .

Neither are we, I say. And to be honest I don't think they were either. But everyone had a Zhopa good time.

Och lassie, he says. Ah doan't think ye ken the meanin' o' that word.

Why, I say, doesn't it mean super?

Noo, he says. 'Tis Rooski for a big woman's bottom.

Ooh, I say, and there we were singing about it and waving our hands in the air. I really thought it meant super.

Never ye mind, lassie, says the Hungarrian. As ye say, it all amounts to the same thing.