Really?

So London is the second most expensive city on the planet after Moscow?

No way! Not with a one-way tube-ride costing a mere £4?

Next they'll be telling us the Earth revolves around the Sun.

After something free?

Try the free films at the Pool of London - take picnic (and some booze!) and watch a film - it's a great night out. (It could even be made a 'Summer of Food ^{(tm reg)}' official event. We've been the last couple of years (last year to see 'Caberet'). Red Ken is putting on some excellent films, like 'Volver', 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' . What's not to like about those?

See, I've saved you money already.......

Oh Dear.....

I had such a lovely day.

Brunch here.

Massage and facial here.

Party last night.

Then dancing here.

I had a really great day and am so lucky to have such a lovely boyfriend, friends and family.

And then today at lunch Ewan McGregor was at the next table - does it get any better than that?

More pics here.

Shoreditch is still the new Shoreditch

The weekend was a bit busy - or at least Friday and Saturday were. Sunday Paul wasn't feeling very well.

Friday night saw us out farewelling a colleague of Paul's - Caroline - she is good fun. I get along well with a couple of Paul's colleagues, who for some reason find me amusing (imagine!), so I enjoyed myself. I am sure that I am probably even more amusing after 4 pints of Guinness.

Saturday I managed to get down to the gym around 9, and saw a very hungover Vicki, the gym manager. Seeing her suffering made me forget my hangover. I admire such selflessness in others.

I met Paul in town after doing some birthday shopping for him. Paul finally ended up buying some very cool Armani sunglasses. So cool he seems to be a bit shy about wearing them. I really like them though, and that's what's important.

There was absolutely no-one in the west end either, everybody was out enjoying the unseasonally hot weather. We had some texts from a friend who was up at the Highgate ponds, but the water temperature was only 51F (10C!), so there was no way we were heading up for a swim. All this warm weather in April is quite disturbing, I find strange for people to be sunbaking and swimming when they should be planning summer holidays.

Saturday night we met Damien at Loungelover. We had been wanting to go for quite a while, but we are never over in Shoreditch. Anyway, Loungelover might be uber-cool and really difficult to get into, but it is a really good bar. My God, the drinks are expensive though! £11 for a margherita! And I didn't even bat an eyelid - I think I've been living in London too long. But it was for Paul's birthday, after all. Because it is so uber-cool (Madonna had her 48th birthday there, and they employ eastern-europeans who can speak english), we were only granted a table for an hour. After that we had to rub shoulders with the plebs up at the bar. We stood under the stuffed Hippo's head. As we reached the bar, everybody sang Happy Birthday. Paul was very touched, until he realised it was someone else's birthday.

The pleasant thing about Loungelover was that although it is difficult to get into, and you may not have a table for long, the staff were more than helpful and affable, which is unusual for London. We had read a couple of bad reviews about attitude, but we didn't experience any of that. Do yourself a favour, as Molly would say.

Afterwards we went around the corner to the Great Eastern Dining Room for too much to eat and yet more to drink. This was another official Summer of Food ^{tm reg} event. Bizarrely, there was a group there who had been in Lounge Lover. The food was very good, the duck in particular was one of the best ducks I've had. I can still taste it.

Shoreditch is pretty cool - Paul still wants to live there (I think) - it's probably more us than St John's Wood, so we'll see.

Better late than never, I suppose.

This post is way overdue, but thought I'd post it anyway.

Management summary - Went skating, it rained, went to pub.

The day before NYE, we met Brock and Lucy and Mark and Angel to go ice skating at the Tower of London. Luckily the afternoon's incessant rain had stopped by the time we got there and the sky was clear. At least it was for 30 minutes or so it was. Then it p*ssed down. Lucy and Brock threw in the towel, but I was insistent that it would clear. Lucy told me I had lived in England too long. ("Chris, face it - we have crap weather" she told me.)

So we admitted defeat, got changed and then went for beers at St Katherine's Dock. Then the pub closed at 10:30! We were aghast - despite the fact that 24- Hour Licenses can be obatined, I know of only 1 pub/bar that's extended it's hours sinec the relaxation of licensing laws. So much for the downfall of British Society.

Never cross a foreigner......

Tuesday night, Damien, Paul’s new best-friend Sue, Paul and I went to see ‘The Page Turner’, at the Curzon Cinema in Monopoly's most expensive real estate, Mayfair. I'd probably class the film as a thriller with some comic touches, but I’m not entirely sure if it was supposed to be comic. Lots of French brooding in it too. The young female lead Deborah Francois was excellent, very sweet, yet menacing and Catherine Frot is beautiful in it, exuding French style through every pore….. And Mum would think Pascal Greggory was pretty dishy as well – he’s a sortof gallic Christopher Plummer. I gave it 7.2/10.

After the film we went to possibly London's only Polish-Mexican restaurant. They have flavoured vodka!

'Are you having another of your queer spells?'

That was one of the questions asked of Old Vic Theatre Artistic Director and late-night dog-walker Kevin Spacey, in Moon for the Misbegotten, in Sarf London last night. The play was excellent, but pretty intense. The subject matter of alcoholism, poverty and unrealised love was a nice way to kick off the Christmas season, too.

And the Bishop of Southwark kicked off his Christmas in a big way this week too, glad to see someone’s enjoying themselves.

We’re going to be spending Christmas a few miles from the ‘Ipswich Ripper'. Looks like I picked a good week to stop turning tricks.

And what planet is John Lethlean on? £7 for a loaf of bread? Was it supposed to have been posted from Paris?

It's all about the water.

Friday night Adam cooked for us, as well as Sim and PO'T. (Which reminds me - someone was writing down my surname on Friday - and asked if it required an apostrophe! I am getting less and less tolerant of stupidity.) We were supposed to be going to Fiction, but as Paul was poorly, we decided it would be in the best interests of his health to stay in.

After work, Ad, PO'T and I headed over to Majestic to meet Paul and grab a dozen bottles of wine (mostly red now the weather's turning cooler. Is there anything better than a nice bottle of red on an autumnal night?) Walking back through St John's Wood, we detoured to The Clifton (formerly the house of Lily Langtry, mistress to royalty) for a swift pint or two.
Ad's cooked us marinated lamb with minted yoghurt and we followed that with two excellent cheeses. One was a Stilton, which I wasn't crazy about, but everyone else loved, and the other was a fantastically runny, gooey, smelly soft-rinded brie-like English cheese.
After the cheese Paul retired to bed, but I felt the need to play host, so very unwisely stayed up until 4:30am drinking amaro (Averna), Apple liqueur, Limoncello and then absinthe. What stupidity.

The next day, after two very hungover boys had returned to South London from our place, Paul and I headed over to Camden. Camden is an assault on the senses at the best of times, but with a large hangover it was a thousand times worse. As a result we didn't spend long there and were quick to beat a retreat. We walked the long way home along Regent's Canal. The walk along the canal was lovely - it's one of my favourite parts of London, it’s so quiet and peaceful. (The peace was broken by one one piece of very obvious stupidity where a woman near us said 'I love those trees - the ones over there like a weeping willow'. Oh, those would be weeping willows then.) Some of the houses along the canal have big gardens that run down to the water - nice. I find a walk in London past houses that are unattainable quite relaxing and soothing.

BERNADETTE? Well I'll be darned. The whole circus is in town.

• Even the wait for the check-in to open couldn't spoil our mood - we’d had a great week, as Paul’s attack of conjunctivitis and the fact we had 12 hours sleep Saturday night attested. We went to get two coffees and much needed carbohydrate in the form of two pastries. And got change from 6 Euro. That’s less than £4 – try the same trick at Heathrow (or Gatwick or Stanstead or “London’s Luton International”). It’s enough to make you move to Spain, as if Paul doesn’t need more encouragement.

• Next thing we know we’re in the Iberia Lounge and our old upstairs neighbour (Marcel? maybe?) from Rose St in Melbourne is there. He’d been in Barcelona for a couple of days, was now on his way to Ibiza for a wedding. He’d been out the night before, dancing until way too late, slept in, missed his plane and was now waiting for his next flight. Cue comments about small worlds, expressions of sympathy for our mutual plights and goodbyes.

• Earlier in the week we’d said goodbye to Bernadette, who returned to Melbourne via London. I think she had a good time in Sitges, as faghag #1. She certainly seemed to enjoy the Piano Bar, running around with a tiara on her head and dancing to what seemed to be all the music from my ipod. It was enough to make us think she’d been secretly taking faghag lessons in order to impress us.

• Impressive as well were Martin and Steve’s efforts, exercising most days. Some people I know would probably call me an exercise addict (I know who you are and I didn’t even go to gym this Sunday, so I’m not, right?) , but even I generally draw the line at exercising on holiday (except Devon – that was different, ok?). I normally pack running gear and then don’t feel guilty even though I fail to make any use of it on holiday.

• Bernadette was kind enough to leave a trendy hessian bag suitable for lugging groceries back home in when she left our apartment, somehow she couldn't fit that into her 30kgs of excess baggage. I used it on Saturday to get the groceries. Somehow I found it strangely comforting after the excesses of last week to have hessian rubbing against my bare skin. I'm sure some souls went from purgatory into heaven as a result.

• We tried to eat in at the villa a few more times this year (and some nights didn't even eat, but that’s gay men and their body dismorphia for you), so we had more money to spend on booze and beauty products. Clayton and Jari cooked some fantastic fish stuffed with peppers garlic, onion and olives, except for the blue one, of course, that fish was straight from the ‘Not Quite Right’ fish counter. Paul and I hosted a Mojito night on our terrace, then everybody was supposed to go out for dinner, but our nibbles were enough (and maybe the drink was too) to sate our housemates appetites.

• Apparently I have a nice accent, but it’s difficult to understand. I will try harder. (lo siento, Angel). Angel introduced the house to Damm Lemon, Beer with lemon and lime in it. I love beer. And I like lemon and lime. Me gusta mucho Damm Lemon.

• Lucy was fag-hag #2, and she stepped up to the plate when Bernie left to be fag-hag #1 (even if it was only for a few hours). She wore the black top above one evening, which of course the house loved because it was Kylie-esque - it was a close call as to whether it would be the cause of a wardrobe malfunction or not.
  

• Mike, the tall ‘strawberry-blonde’ Irishman took delight in me saying ‘Bernadette’. As Bernie was in the house, naturally this was quite a regular occurrence. It made him laugh because apparently I sounded like a character from Priscilla. Obviously one of the butch ones, though. Mike was also kind enough to introduce us to raspberry vodka and lime, which was enough to make me forgive him for anything. Even stalking my boyfriend.

• Stuie was his inimitable self – it’s his holiday too, you know. And only Stuie could end up chatting to people who lived a block from Paul and I, or invite people no-one knows to dinner, but that’s why we love him.
  

• Mark, as usual, was there in background with his acerbic wit, avoiding the sun to protect his kidmanesque skin, taking people on his Barcelona tour, and sneaking another drink when Angel wasn’t looking. His job now is to research the role of the Vichy government in WWII.

All Change

• Our office has moved and it went swimmingly. That is if you count no email, no access to systems from home (bit of a problem when you're oncall) and a 1:20hr commute each way as measures of success. Boo!

• I got to go to Providores (also known as Palladoritos), even though it is on Paul's banned list. Bernie and I threw budgetry caution to the wind and went there for dinner the other night. It was excellent - the food in particular was great (truffled dim sum prawns, anyone?) and the wine list had some really good stuff on it too. I'm giving it 8.8/10. No wonder it's packed every night. I can still taste that pinot (and that's a good thing). Hurray!!

• Bernie leaves on Tuesday for Australia. Boo!!

• But she's going to be Fag Hag #1 in Sitges - Hurray!!

• We can't go see Volver tonight, so will have to wait until after Sitges. I am desperate to see it - Almodovar makes great movies. Boo!

• We're almost on holiday - tomorrow afternoon this will be two blocks from our villa! And the forecast is good too - Hurray!!

Berns Night

Last night Paul, Simon, Bernadette and I, instead of going here, we bought our own bottles of crisp white and

went here. Mr Christou does very good cod and chips.

After depleting the North Sea's cod stock even further, we headed up the road to the bar at Orrery. Paul and I discovered we knew the Maitre'd. Everyone decided Raspberry Mojitos, whilst considered unorthodox by cocktail aficionados, are tasty. There was much discussion of the legendary Black Cardamon hand cream.
The cocktail maker was annoying ('Guess what country I'm from!' 10 guesses later we were tired of that game - for God's sake will you leave the punters alone!).
The drinks were expensive - £84 for eight cocktails. Ouch.

So goodbye to all that.....

Chris and Bernie are embarking on a new adventure. Chris is now back in Melbourne, and Bernie has one last hurrah in Europe before she joins him. So last Friday Paul and I invited them to a farewell dinner at ours. But we had hatched a cunning plan.

Instead of dinner, we’d invited Lucy and Brock, Mark and Angel, Stuie, Clayton and Jari, Don and Derecks, and Andy around for surprise farewell party. Our cunning plan worked, Chris and Bernie were surprised, and we had some very pleasant drinks to say farewell. Geez, Chris and Bernie’s friends can drink some booze! I’m glad they’re not my friends…..

I spent most of the early part of the evening in the kitchen preparing food (matyrdom complex – who me?), so I was less tired and emotional than some by the end of the evening. Those of us who were so inclined went on to London’s premier polysexual club night, Fiction, where we danced (but not near that bloody Fire Exit sign) and behaved in a thoroughly hedonistic manner until the small hours.

It all seems very surreal – Chris came up for a curry at our local Indian on Monday night and I managed to catch his cold before he left (thanks Chris!). We said our goodbyes and that was it. So now he’s gone, 23 hours away on a plane. No more ‘Hello Chris, it’s Chris’, ‘Yes Chris, it’s Chris here Chris’. But we still have the lovely Bernadette, and she is coming to Sitges with us and bringing Lucy. Our very own Fag-hags! We can’t wait.

Saturday Night we had Mark’s birthday bbq, in deepest darkest South London. But we survived (note to self: drinking pints of G+T makes your head hurt). We caught up with some of Marks friends we hadn’t seen for a while, which was good. It was my first bbq at Mark’s parent’s, as I left London the first year I could have been invited, and then when we returned Mark was in Brussels, so he hasn’t had one in London for some time. It was a lot tamer than I thought it would be, but I suppose all his friends are middle-aged now, they don’t roll around on the grass snogging people anymore. Well, not at bbqs, anyway. Mark decided he wanted to go to The Two Brewers, so we went over, watch the obligatory drag show and had a bit of a dance.

Sunday I discovered why gin is called "a mother’s ruin". I put on a brave face though, and despite lots of tutting and asking how I was feeling today (I love it when people take the moral high ground), we managed to make it to London’s glitzy West End (right). Scoffed down some Dim Sum ( or Yum Cha – call it what you want – I don’t mind), then went to see the BP Portrait Award (or something like that) at the National Portrait Gallery. It was OK – I love the NPG, but I find the BP competition a bit crappy generally. There’s a lot of dross in there, and only a handful of the paintings I actually liked. So sue me.

Would you like a cup of tea, Father?

There was a time when I used to drink a lot of tea. I used to drink it when I was a teenager, trying assorted Twinings teas to find one I liked (English Breakfast and Irish breakfast used to be favourites), but like heterosexuality in my teenage years, something never felt quite right with it. I was introduced to real coffee via a plunger (cafetiere) in my early twenties and from then I was hooked. From plunger coffee I moved on to harder and darker coffees, and the final nail in tea’s coffin for me came in 1994.


This was London in 1994, when there were only 4 Costa Coffees in town, when it was easier to find a Tory MP being spanked in brothel in Soho than it was to find a decent cappuccino. So there I was in Selfridges, frantically trying to find a Christmas present for my then boyfriend, when I saw a Gaggia and it was reduced. So £120 later it was all mine and I still had to find my boyfriend a present.



Fast forward 12 years and my Gaggia is still going strong, outlasted that boyfriend (and provided me with more happiness, but that’s a whole other post) and gives me the strength to commute out to Slough 4 days a week. So when Paul said we were going to the Savoy for tea, to celebrate Julie’s birthday, my first thought was "Do they serve coffee?" My next thought was "You little ripper!", when I was told the Savoy also does a champagne tea.



So Saturday we, eventually, after first stopping for a quick drink at the very Chi-chi One Aldwych, found ourselves in the art-deco splendour of the Savoy Hotel for tea to celebrate Julie’s birthday. It was Paul’s Aunt Daphne’s birthday gift to Julie and very enjoyable it was too. The service was friendly and attentive (we had a Polish Mrs Doyle, pushing tea like it was crack cocaine), my tea (Japanese Green tea with Cherry and Rose) was fantastic, the cakes, scones and sandwiches were neverending and we had a great time. Oh, and the Laurent Perrier Champagne wasn’t bad either, almost as sparkling as the conversation and the pianist. It was all very English and a lot of fun. I’d recommend it to anyone.

No you won't fool the children of the revolution

This weekend we whisked Julie away for an euroweekend to Prague. The Czech capital was lovely - warm, sunny and pretty. Sometimes almost too pretty and too clean, it was almost unrecognisable from the city I visited in 1992. Then, there were practically no tourists, not a lot of accommodation and eating out consisted of chewing gristly meat and leaden dumplings. It was beautiful, but still grim after years of communism. Now, it's all Italian restaurants, designer hotels and crystal shops on every corner, which is all very good for the cashed-up northern European tourist, but we did wonder how accessible it all was to the average Czech.

We ran into two groups of guys we know from London, which goes to show how small the world is (or at least how small the gay scene is in Prague). And the Czech boys are very pretty, in that hairless, suntanned, East European way. Both nights we ended up at Valentino's which was not a bad spot. In particular on Saturday night there was a room playing cheesy eurotrash and (I assume) Czech classics. It was hilarious and a lot of fun. The only other bar of note was 21, it had a good vibe, and at least was air-conditioned. In comparision Saints Bar, was too hot, and full of English expats. Add the heat and cigarette smoke into the mix and we ended up quickly downing our beers and leaving.



Prague at times seemed overrun with tourists, with Charles Bridge in particular bearing most of the weight of the onslaught. But buggered if I know where the tour groups all go at night, after 11pm there was practically no-one out. And it seems that Americans are travelling again too, for the first time in large numbers since September 11. We've noticed increasing numbers in London, and then this weekend in Prague we were lucky enough to encounter some (obviously not from NYC, M + R). One in particular at our hotel could project his voice with enviable clarity. "Where y'all from?" he asked the table next to him. The entire breakfast room of forty tables turned as one, after all he must have been speaking to us.....


Any hope of a moderate alcohol intake for the weekend went out the window when we arrived at the hotel maximillian and there was a complimentary bottle of wine in the room. Combine that with Czech beer (fantastic - Budvar, Pilsner Urquell, Gambrinus and Staropramen.....), lounge access at the airport, and a 3-hour delay to our return flight (thankyou BA!) and my liver is in desperate need of a few days off.

Speaking of alcohol, despite our worst fears and it's notorious reputation, Prague wasn't overrun by stag groups (buck's parties). I think the fact that the World Cup final was on on Sunday affected stag numbers and there are now cheaper Eastern European cities that meet the stag group criteria of cheap beer.

Saturday we attended an opera recital at the Estates Theatre. Unfortunately, it was after our very relaxing Thai massage, so the three of us were sitting there nodding off. I bet the short and halter top-wearing (seriously - at the Opera - where do these people come from?) octogenarians were so jealous. More pics here.

Champagne is good for you

So it’s a pretty late update from the weekend, but it’s easy to get caught up in the World Cup and the summer of love. World Cup games featuring Spain, England, Australia and Sweden the last few nights have meant we were slightly distracted.

Friday night saw me ‘cook’ a goat’s cheese salad and a beef carpaccio of sorts for Paul. Both were pretty nice, if I do say so myself. We knocked back a bottle of Pinot with that, and topped it all off with berries and crème fraiche, so no wonder I decided to get up early (c’mon, 8:30am is early) and go for a run Saturday.

I don’t know why I bothered really, it was probably one of my worst runs for about 5 years. I did my normal 6-mile down and around Regent’s Park, but the warm weather combined with sleepiness, no food and a niggly foot injury meant I stopped about 3 times. Still it was sunny enough to take my shirt off in Regents Park and I got a little less pasty. Soon I’ll be positively Kidmanesque in my complexion.

At least I burnt off some of the 5000 calories and 45 units of alcohol we consumed at the Taste of London. It was a lovely hot day (well, 27C) and we ate plenty and drank far too much champagne.I took some pictures, but they seem to consist of the tops of peoples heads - not sure how that happened. It finished bang on 4pm, so we went and sat in Regent’s Park, drank some more champagne, then the group decamped to our place to freshen up for Mark II’s friend’s party.

We all headed off to Clapham South for a housewarming. Mark II’s friend’s name is Alan and he is lovely. So lovely that Paul is keen to groom him as a friend. It was a fairly quiet affair, only about 25 or so people there, and I made friends with a pocket gay from Boston. He was very sweet and one of those americans you meet that challenges your preconceptions about americans. There’s always one. After that we went clubbing, purely to keep Alan, Mark, Oscar, Damien, Dr F. et. al. company, mind you. Mark and Oscar are really nice guys - so generous - we’re very glad to have met them.

Sunday was originally for going to the ponds and sunbathing, but it turned out Sunday was for sleeping. And for watching Australia get beaten by Brazil, but at least they put up a good fight. Just a draw needed now to get through to the last 16. And then elimination.

So, The Summer of Love Has Begun.

After what seems likes weeks of grey damp weather, summer is finally here. It has officially been dubbed the ‘Summer of Love’, because ‘the lord’ is back from Brussels, and it’s Chris and Bernie’s first whole summer here. The weather has been hot and sunny for over a week now, and we're loving it (although the Bakerloo line is already unbearably hot).

Friday night we had Damien over for dinner. Paul was cooking as a thankyou to D and myself for helping him out on a work project earlier in the week. D is looking very brown, (I tell you, the Moors did conquer southern Italy!) and Paul cooked a lovely meal, asparagus with manchego and a vinaigrette, followed by tagliata.

Saturday afternoon we headed down to Balham (in deepest, darkest South London), for the very broad-shouldered Chris and his lovely wife Bernadette’s ‘Farewell Balham, Hello Summer of Love’ party. We started of by chilling out in the garden, then went inside later on for a bit of a dance. Needless to say we missed the last tube, and got a taxi home considerably later than we should have. We had a lovely time because almost all of our favourite people were there. Bernie sortof liturgically danced, but it lacked Sharna’s choreographic input.

Sunday we met the Smith family for a picnic. My day consisted mainly of lifting kids onto monkey bars. I only had one glass of wine! Josh wanted to go on the big Kids slide, but I said ‘No!’. He’s only three, but after seeing another kid about the same age hurtle down, I thought the slide wasn’t that bad. Paul invited him to go on it and he said ‘No, I’m not allowed’. I relented, thinking that if he flew off the thing, taking most of his skin off, at least he would have been happy. He was fine.