Inside, I discover that Old Hag's ensemble is part of the themed joys of Noir Blue. The interior is set out as a kind of bastard copy of an Indian temple. Decorated in eye-watering colours, it looks as though a five-year-old loose with a paint palette.
Walls and ceiling are draped in tomato-red, frog-green and that gaudy shade of gold that make knocked-off designer watches look counterfeit. To call it a 'riot' of colour is inadequate. This verges on full-scale insurrection. But the explosion-in-a-paint-factory decor is a mere background for brass lamps, burners sprouting incense sticks, statues of that cross-legged, elephant-headed deity, and goddesses with more limbs than a millipede.
The music would be okay if you enjoy listening to the sitar, or at least, the genuine article. But this
