Went to London the other night to see my mates Ongey and Mollusc, have a drink, and eat....
Clerkenwell is not necessarily a lovely part of London, but I find it a great place to hang out. On the doorstep of kings cross and farringdon, it certainly isn't striking, not noted for its architecture, but it has a welcoming ambience all of its own which is somewhat unusual for central-ish london. Firstly a pint at the Three Kings and a chat, we got there early enough to grab a table.
I was quiet, I was looking at the beautiful people, probably staring too much maybe! That urban chiq people in London can pull off without trying, the chatter of voices, from all over the world, and I realised how much I missed my home, where I grew up. Where you can be anyone.
Sure I love where I am now, and to a certain degree I get the best of both worlds. The woods and marshes in the nature reserve at the bottom of my road, where I can walk or run and enjoy the day. But I would struggle to do without London, I miss her filthy unshaven armpits and the squalid plump arms of her embrace. I see London as a gin drinking lady from 19th century Whitechapel with no teeth, wearing a dirty apron. She's a lovely old city, full of charm, just don't upset her or she'll stab you with a knitting needle.
So we went to Medcalf, in Exmouth market, a converted butchers shop, now rustic french/british restaurant with ample portions. Delicate and subtle enough for the discerning pallette, but also suitable for blood stained carnivores who like meat. (i.e. me).
We all ordered squid as starter, subliminally this was a tactical decision by all of us, as we always covet what is in each others plates, and Ongey puts on this utterly stupid begging puppy whine, juts his chin out and shakes his head towards our plates whilst pursing his lips. Pathetic I know, but you have to throw him a scrap or he embarasses us.
Unfortunately on this fine evening, I was the chief agent embarrasenteur (how pompous... "agent embarrasenteur" I was going to delete that, but it is so shit, I'm leaving it there). For some reason, we started discussing creating "pointless olympic events". I wont go into detail as in the cold light of day, and without the other two members of my witches coven present, my words feel they have no power (or humour!)
When we meet up, we regress and become 13 year old poo and fart fixated little boys. Its a great release (not of poo - of humour) and it's hilarious fun (for us) when we get together, but we are often accused of being childish and exclusive, laughing at the fact we are so pathetic and roaring even more when no one else laughs. But we don't care, its good to be stupid!
So… pointless Olympic events…. I came up with the idea of "Tiddlywanks". This is when our conversations become ridiculous, it often happens.... and we start arguing (quite vehemently!) about something we've just made up on the spot, eg - the feeding habits of an alien malevolant race. On this occasion it was to do with what the rules should be.... for a game called "Tiddlywanks". I have to admit, when challenged I hadn't really considered a full set of rules for my new sport, I felt wounded, I was on the defensive, so I just shouted out "YOU HAVE TO MASTURBATE INTO THE CUP!" I was about to adlib, and link it to how it involved the tiddly-winks bit, as I was struggling, the rules weren't really developed and there was not even a tenous association with the buttons you flick in the noble art of tiddlywinks. But I was shocked into silence, taken aback that after my outburst, the whole restaurant stopped talking, and that our waitress had at that instant brought over Mollusc's dessert and I'd shouted and spluttered "YOU HAVE TO MASTURBATE INTO THE CUP!" over his butterscotch sauce. She looked offended and stormed off in a huff. I should have ran after her and tried to explain...
"No No! you don't understand, I'm explaining the rules of Tiddly-wanks" but I think damage limitation was the right option and holding my head in hands was the correct choice whilst the other two pissed themselves…. So the end of another fine evening, but still needed to get home L
When I'm in London I'm always looking at my watch, always checking train times, a night out can be bollocksed up by this.
Maybe I should abuse my sisters hospitality more often, and turn up at her house at 4am (still earlier than Dora) more often? Wearing a cowboy hat, a wide collared shirt from a second hand shop and talking crap to Dora's friends when I'm still drunk and eating breakfast at 1pm, embarrassing her with my kebab tainted breath. Yeah, I'll do that. It's much easier than becoming rich and buying my own place in London.
Decided. Thanks Dora.