Claire gave me strict instructions when we were organising activities: 'no strippers and nothing too embarrassing...'. I'm not sure whether this request extended to wandering around London dressed in a green poncho made from a garden refuse sack covered with paper daisies with a plastic dog turd strapped to her head, but this is what she got.
We had an evening of high-camp, nuns and sore throats at the 'Singalonga Sound of Music' show. Fifteen or so women dressed as 'the hills that are alive' must have been a strange sight as we gathered outside of the cinema. We were victorious in the fancy dress parade - narrowly beating the women dressed up as 'brown paper parcels all tied up with string' and (bizarely) the guys dressed up as chimney sweeps (isn't that the wrong Julie Andrews film?!) to win the bottle of champagne.
Just to explain the dog turd thing - remember the song, 'High on a hill stood a Lonely goat herd (goat turd?!). Unfortunately the joke shop didn't do goat turd....
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