“How in the world did you come to know about her?” asked a friend. Well, erm, another friend who happens to know me well enough suggested it. Madame Pamita held her last gig in London and without much thought, Wednesday evening was spent a) walking 2 km in search of this George Tavern of a place in the wild east and b) drawing out tarrot cards for a gig to unroll auspiciously for the audience.

With a ukulele in hand, Madame Pamita has a set of cards for her audience to pick out determining her song sets for each night. That velvet embroidered white cape was the highlight of the affair. That night, we sang along to tunes on thriftiness and fortuitous rendezvous, while I had a solo session slipped in right before midnight.

It read “Thou shalt have to cross over the salt sea for many a league.” She also drew out the sun as my past (tell me about it), the moon as my present and childhood bliss (and naivety) as a default current position.

On a side note, we even had a recording session, collectively onto a wax cylinder.