On Friday evening it’s a work night out and even though I haven’t been on a work night out since I started my job about a year ago, I decide to go to this one. So we go to this French restaurant and there’s about 20 of us and for starter I get the sautéed asparagus with rocket, virgin oil and parmesan and then as main I get the crisp skin fillet of sea bass with caramelized baby fennel and crushed hazelnut beurre noisette.
But I’m not happy with the meal because everything is very fatty and greasy (the asparagus is swimming in oil, the sea bass the same) and then when I get the white chocolate torte for dessert, well quite frankly that’s like drinking double cream straight of a carton. But at least I don’t have to pay for any of this, you know? And then this restaurant goes on the black list of places I should never go again.
After that we go to this really tacky bar, because people obviously want to continue drinking until they’re uninhibited enough to start making out with each other and then go back to work on Monday and pretend none of these things happened, but I get bored quickly there and leave 10 minutes later.
On Saturday I’m supposed to go out with Matty and the other lads for Matty’s birthday. And we’re supposed to meet in this pub is Soho called The Glasshouse, or at least this is what Matty tells me beforehand. So I turn up on Brewer Street where this place is supposed to be, but the only pubs I can find are either The Glasshouse Stores or the Glassblower. So this confuses me no end and I don’t know what to do. And for some reason I don’t have Matty’s number on my phone and nobody else is answering.
And I’m not very willing to try both pubs to see which one they’re in, because to be honest they look very unappealing and I’m not sure I want to know really. Outside The Glasshouse Stores there are three 60-year-old guys with faded ex-sailor tattoos on their arms chain smoking and looking poor and stupid and I’m sorry, I’m not planning to walk through those guys and look in the pub. So I walk around for 25 minutes and then I go back and they are gone and I go in and find Matty etc there. And obviously I have a go at him for giving me the name of the pub inaccurately.
So inside, we catch up and discuss the following topics:
- According to the Evening Standard, there are about 250 gangs operating in London at this point in time, which explains the occasional shooting (usually in some crappy area I wouldn’t even go to if they paid me in East or South London). And we all agree that all those people should get on with it and shoot each other dead (“because the country wouldn’t be losing any cancer curers”) or at least get sent to the war in Iraq. We are very liberal and tolerant towards different classes like that
- We discuss the merits of living in different areas of London, and with me being such a strong advocate for west-central London, Mean tries to put the area where I live down by saying that it’s full of “rootless cosmopolitan Euro-trash” and I don’t really take much offence at that, because it’s a pretty fair and accurate description. Of me and my neighbours
Then it’s time to go home where Scott and Donnell and I stay in and attempt to watch movies but we get bored and stop each of them about 15 minutes in. And here are two pictures of Scott, a) watching movies and b) taking a piss in the kitchen sink because the bathroom is too far to walk to
And finally here are two pictures from a French website that very kindly decided to run a story on my blog and me and it's called A cause de Garcons. Or sumfink.
I have 11 songs by Bruce Springsteen and I've played them 291 times
I have 6 songs by Bryan Adams and I've played them 64 times
I have 1 song by Bryan Ferry and I've played it 8 times