I look at my hand in horror. "I've broken a nail!" I wail pitifully.

It occurs to me that all the other ladies are on their feet, applauding and throwing coins like their lives depend upon it. I look up from my devastated manicure, but only manage to catch a brief glimpse of a figure leaving the stage.

"Wha'd I miss?"

The explanations seem to be inadequate, and I find myself feeling a bit confused as the descriptions start to sound rather architectural.

"...a mighty obelisk..."

"...towering monument..."

As the superlatives bombard me, I suddenly find my attention dragged elsewhere.

"Nobody told me there was food!" I exclaim happily, and begin tucking in with gusto. Just as I'm tackling a particularly tasty tidbit, a Greek gentleman taps me on the shoulder and enquires if I might play another tune. I pout for a moment, because I broke a fingernail during the last raunchy routine (wonder where I learnt such a tune?). But before I refuse, I realise that playing music for the entertainment of others is now my job.

I nod at the customer, then stroll over to the rest of the band. "Okay boys, lets give 'em something they can dance to."