Let me set the scene:
Last night, 1am.
(So no longer hotspot) Bungalow 8.
Am having a drink and catching up with a friend.
Am looking sorta cute.
We sit on the corner table (friend knows everyone there).
Sorta fun and getting crowded, music pumping...
We are brutally removed from our table in a matter of 5 seconds.
Why? What is going on?
Wait... Let me at least take my $15 drink with me.
Terrorist threat? Bomb?
Same place, second later.
I am standing at the bar.
Kirsten Dunst and her beau Jake are sitting on MY table.
There is just something deeply wrong with that, so I had to share it (this sorta crap would just never happen where I come from).
US Weekly would have paid me a fortune for Kirsten's pictures dancing like a mad woman with chef Mario Batali.
List of things to buy (for nightlife survival kit):
My pride back.
Very small Digital Camera.