That night in claridges there was magic in the air

the queen mother, the queen mother, the queen mother was there,

a band reflected mahogany and brass

in the glittering walls that were faced in glass.

Nostalgia was served with the unctuous strains

of cole porter, berlin, for the starters and mains.

Nothing had changed in the waltz of kings

and none of the tunes were my fa...

Read and leave comments (5)