Not that he's throwing rotten eggs, sending us hate mail or dedicating virtriolic rants to us.
Far from that. Harry's a classy guy. You remember me mentioning some time back that I was just dying to go for his concert? Well, the only guy I know who knows the name is my ISO. No surprise there since we actually spent a couple of sultry English summers in his grotty flat listening to jazz tunes and fighting over that last bit of takeaway tandoori.
Good God. Were we ever that young?
Oh. We did that naked btw. So tandoori mixed with male sweat and testosterone? Not too bad.
So no prizes for guessing who got asked out by default for a night on the town. Of course the fact that my ISO does have considerably deep pockets - to afford the shockingly pricey tickets - was the deciding factor when I made the call.
Although we enjoyed the music, I think we couldn't help ourselves ( monsters we be! ) when it came to the people-watching. Or the fooling around. Like the time we fiddled around with the monocles - amongst other things - during the Phantom, I should have known that my ISO could never keep still for longer than an hour.
I'll have to admit that with the motley crew in the audience ( think datuks, datins and tai tais ), he did have some provocation.
My ISO : Hey take a look at that mak datin in the third row.
Paul : You mean the wig that ate Kuala Lumpur?
My ISO : Nope, it's the other one. The giant oversized brooch that ate the wig. Paul : OMG. Look at her other accessory. Now, is that her husband? Or her grandson!?My ISO : She wishes. He's as queer as the three dollar bill - gave me the once-over as we walked in.
Paul : Should I play the jealous ex and give him the evil eye?
My ISO : Please do. The inadvertent challenge might bring him over.
Luckily our stage whispers didn't sway our slick music man - and Harry managed to soldier on despite the occasional rude guffaw from the aisles. Surprised he didn't whack my ISO over the head with the trombone :P
Though I swear soldiering on would be a shocking understatement! Despite the far-too-brief musical revue, our jazz maestro was worth every penny of the hefty ticket - and more. So much so that even my boisterous ISO sobered down and started to tap his feet to the big band music. Just in time for me to catch a bit of Harry's sly wit who managed to pepper his wonderful performance with bits of his eventful stay in town dealing with roller coasters, pirated goods and nasi lemak.
Fortunately for him, he didn't get eaten by the giant oversized brooch.