A Nice Quiet Week?

Civilised was the word for the start of the week. I took it nice and easy through the start of it and on Wednesday had a couple of civilised pints with my long standing friend James (The Electron) Larsson. He's not to well at the moment and I wish him all the best. It seems years of messing about with high end hi-fi, VERY loud music and headphones has permantly damaged his ears. Apparantly its now so bad that he can't go to loud places any more and even the noise of the underground can cause pain. Oh, and there is absolutely nothing that can be done about it, and its going to steadily get worse.

So you, yes you with your IPod cranked to stupid level. Turn it down or you too may suffer this, forever. Cheers James.

Thursday Badness

Oh dear, its seems that even an art event can get out of hand if your foolish enough to meet up with The Duke. He happened to have a spare ticket for the Time Out private view of pop artist Roy Lichtenstein at the Haywood Gallery.

The paintings were as expected. Some made my eyes go funny. Or was that the free wine?

A rather good pizza in Villiers street followed and then we walked up the road. As we neared The Savoy The Duke foolishly said "I've never had a drink in there" I smuggled him in and within minutes were on the Cocktails. As we worked our way through a round of Sidecars followed by Champagne Cocktails, followed by Martinis (gin and vodka respectively) and then god knows what else, we joined a nice American lady who was drinking large amounts of neat gin (Sapphire) with a lemon twist.

She was a charming, witty lady who it transpired was visiting her daughter for the week. Her daughter, who is a 21 year old student studying art appreciation was asleep and Mum had taken the opportunity for a few quick snifters and some secret ciggarettes.

Art appreciation? I ask you? It sounds like an excuse for a young wealthy American gal to arse about in europes major cities for a year or so distracting blokes who should know better. Well fair play to her, thats what I say. By the sound of it shes a bit of a lightweight though as lunch at Gordon Ramsay's had finished her off. I'm sure we can work on this and get her up to speed.

Elodie (for that was the lady's name) took to the Duke and snaffled his card. We were all quite elegantly wasted and she said that he was a charming man and that he should show her daughter (and her daughters single friends) around London.

As we left The Duke was propositioned by a very gay man in a tuxedo who was flushed with port. "Ding dong"....Highly amusing.

We didnt get far, some friends were around the corner and the evening finished up in the early hours. I finished up on a sofa somewhere

I always recommend the American Bar at the Savoy. The service and the drinks are amongst the very best in the world. Yes its pricey but late at night everyone is lashed and strange things can happen at the party. After all, if you are in London you might as well experience it.

Suprisingly I was rather quiet at work on Friday...

The email I got from a befuddled Duke amused me. Elodie had called and he's off to dinner with a gaggle of young, lively American girls on Monday. He's a good lad so they will be very safe... the thing is though, will he?

Duty Calls

Two trusty workers were leaving on the same Friday from Fortress Towers and I took them out. Well, I took the whole company out. Tired as I was sometimes you have to go on regardless.

Blend was great and the night ended at a large shiny fairly new bar full of more drunk people off Oxford Street called Wax.

I finally faded away and lurched into my bed at about 3 o clock. It was a good night.

Muse For The Day

One hair on my left eyebrow has taken to growing at at least twice the speed of its comrades. I keep having to pull it out as it starts to look like a curl on my forhead. Why should this be? Come on. I want to know.

The Hoathster

The link to his pages are up on the right. He is finally beginning to appreciate the finer things in life. Well done sir! And good luck with the dodgy back.

thegardener1969@msn.com

Bam-Bou and Bamboo

On Friday night the very kind Slinx took me to dinner to Bam-Bou at No 1 Percy Street. This is just opposite the south end of Charlotte Street.

Bam-Bou

This is an interesting place. The building, originally a town house is over set over four floors. The restaurant is on the ground floor and the bar is up top on the fourth. Its a network of small rooms with interesting places to sit and decor that's dark, semi eastern and charming. We bought drinks on the fourth and found somewhere to sit on the third. It feels very much still like a house and having our drinks in a third floor room felt very much like being in someone's private party. I got a splinter off my chair. This used to be a members only bar but that's changed now. I would imagine due to competition. I recommend going for drinks if you would like somewhere with no bustle to sit and chat whilst relaxing. Oh, I got another splinter in my hand from the door edge.

This bills itself as a French Vietnamese restaurant. At our allotted time we went downstairs to eat. I have never eaten French food in Vietnam so I can't comment as to its authenticity. It was quite good and I liked the twists. My stir fried beef was cooked perfectly and served with salt pepper and lime to mix to taste. The food is not crazily priced but the wine is heavily marked up. Expect to pay £30 for a bottle of anything half decent. Later, as we were having coffee I moved my chair slightly and got yet another splinter in my hand.

Hmmmm I thought.

I pointed out the splinters to the manager in a concerned, you should be aware, type of way. I was most surprised when he came over a little later and insisted I have a drink on the house. He was most surprised when I opted for a glass of port. He wasn't to know that my eagle eyes had earlier scoped that they only had one port on the menu, and that was priced at £14. It was very good. I resolve to run my hands over the woodwork in every venue I visit from now on.

Overall. Recommended for just drinks or for just food, or indeed, just both.

Free the Trapped Children

A few of the adoring millions have shouted about my last post. It seems that I am harsh to the tiny children of London Town and should refocus my attention away from their tear stained faces and aim it squarely at their parents. Apparently parents don't let the little bundles of joy out any more. They drive them to and from school instead of letting them catch the bus or walk, and they wouldn’t ever allow the gifts to the next generation to wander about looking for cars to clean or paths to sweep for extra pocket money. No, it seems the Daily Mail, Daily Express and co have won. All parents believe that a paedophile lurks on every corner and in every house. Except theirs of course.

I worry for the little sods. How on earth can you grow up with any nous whatsoever if you are hermetically sealed? After all if you don't learn on your own to recognise the scary bloke that lives in the overgrown house on the end of the street how will you know to recognise the scary ones later on? hmm? Who's fault is it all?

Don't get me started...

Bamboo

Today I spent some time in the garden. Spring is stuttering in. I removed the winter nets from the pond, I cleared the paths around the vegetable beds. I began to tidy. God though! there is a lot to be done out there. All the playing out I've been doing over the last months means that there is lots to do.

That mole is toast...

thegardener1969@msn.com

Children - Who Needs Em?

This morning I drove to work. I'm not going to feel guilty about it either. I got to listen to the radio (XFM today) I got to chat on the phone to my Mum (Yes with a headset thingie) and I got to travel with lots of light and occasionally crispy hazy sunshine filling my world. My air conditioning system meant I breathed relatively fresh air. I had a comfy seat. It was bliss. My door-to-door journey took 56 minutes.

Yesterday I caught the tube to work. I got to listen to someone else radio (tinny crap FM I think?) I got to hear two, exceptionally boring, dead from the neck up, shoe shop assistants discussing Heat magazine with lots of accompanying cackling and rabid donkey noise laughing, and I got to travel surrounded by the bizarre lighting which London Underground deems is necessary. I reckon they bought the lighting from some ex-dictator who had decided to change his ways and join the hippy trail. He obviously didn’t need the lights from his torture cell blocks any more as he had turned them into wine cellars. I breathed in other people’s aromas. It could have been worse; at least I had a seat. My door-to-door journey took 65 minutes.

Hmmmm.. I should point out that normally driving to work isn't half as nice. It normally takes an hour and 20 minutes or if really nasty much more….

So why the luxurious drive in through empty streets with smiling pedestrians and happy relaxed old people I thought, as I courteously waved the scaffold lorry on in front of me with a cheery, devil me care wave.

I'll tell you. No children, yes that’s right, you heard. No children, anywhere. Its half term you see and the little darlings get yet another week off school and as they are off school their parents aren’t driving their huge, stupid space wagons to school either. Ergo empty roads.

This led me to thinking. What use are children in cities anyway? You don’t see them as they are in school in the daytimes and mostly in homes (or on street corners) at night. They don't contribute anything useful at all. For instance in my 10 years of car ownership in and around London not once has an enterprising child with a grubby bucket tried to earn a few quid by cleaning my car. You can't even use them to clean chimneys these days or even air conditioning ducts. So in short our lives are made more difficult by lazy, noisy, non-productive children who just take, take, take and get in the way. Whilst wearing bad clothes.

I say move them into the countryside, into camps. Just think, all the teachers would be happier as they wouldn’t have to moan on about not being able to afford to live blah, blah, blah. Even better we could spend less time listening to them moaning! Many of the old people would get some piece of quiet and even the children might benefit whilst they learn such things as peas don’t grow in packets, or that meat comes from animals with eyes, and most importantly of all. I could drive to work every day and enjoy the trip at the same time.

I think I should be in charge…Vote for me on the ‘put kids in camps’ ticket! Or perhaps make them go to school all night and sleep in the day?...

MARCO PANTANI 1970-2004

The Pirate is dead. Such a shame, he was an incredible force.

I'm not really a massive cycling fan but the Tour De France is a special thing and Marco Pantani bought it to life.

Raise a glass.

thegardener1969@msn.com

A Long Wait

Welcome back fans!, Oh sorry, you're right, its me that’s not been here. Yes I apologise for leaving you a whole week without a new, action packed episode of this, the literary classic that you crave. I'm not sure what’s more tragic? Is it that I actually write this stuff, or is it that you actually read it? Anyway, I'm digressing...

Get your self a cup of tea, sit back and have a rest. This could be a long blog.

The last seven days have been busy and tiring. I'm thinking of cloning a double so I can have more time to muse in the bath while my doppelganger could go out and about, working, partying and generally wearing itself out. Is cloning allowed yet? Has science made it into the mainstream? Can I keep the cloning vat in the back garden? Would it need planning regulations? Does it smell funny and what colour would it be?

More importantly would The Gardener Mk1.0 clone have my taste in style, drinks and ladies? If you think about it, that could be the real industry killer for cloning. I shall go to the next cloning debate and shout from the public gallery "You can keep your complex ethical and moral questions mate, what we really want to know is whether they will it be exactly like you or will it have their own mind?" For instance I can just imagine coming home whistling a jaunty tune and looking forward to donning a silk dressing gown, twiddling the stereo to something ambient with a Sidecar in hand and leaning back whilst a selection of beautiful masseurs dressed only in small amounts of exotic finery gently rub essential oils into my tired feet and kiss each others ears whilst serving delightful canapés and instead finding that TGMk1 has filled the house with his chav mates from the estate drinking cans of Kronenburg, wearing 'sports' clothes and shouting "geddermoff" at Men and Motors. Hmmm..These are important issues, I shall do some research. On second thoughts I think I should work harder towards me coming home to the currently imaginary masseurs whilst whistling the jaunty tune. I know I'll use the cloning vat to make wine instead...


Uber Geeks and Cognac

Last Wednesday found me and The Duke at Dorkbot London This is a monthly meeting of assorted phreaks, electronics experts, net heads and people that I noted seemed to have something in common. They all either had far to much hair, or hardly any at all. It was held in what I shall call an 'urban barn' near Brick Lane. This building was mostly held together by pigeon droppings, cobwebs and corrugated iron. God knows where the electricity was being generated from. I surmised that perhaps these uber geeks were powering it through shared cagoule rubbing. Anyway, it was quite fun and the subsidised bar which was basically a man, a trestle table and some boxes of very credible Pilsner Urquell only charged £1 a bottle. Yes! Its true! I have found a bar that sells beer at cheaper than cost. I know where I’m going next time I need stock for a party. For a while we watched a nice but nervous lady waffle on about art and shared electronic studio space as the audience rustled their cagoules or creaked their leather jackets whilst eyeing her with anticipation. She eventually stuttered to a stop and the next speaker came on, literary. I say literally because the speaker was in fact a speaker. Yes that type of speaker, the one that normally sits in a cabinet and allows you to waggle your feet to your favourite tunes. The speaker sat there whilst a man with a beard, who I think was American waved bits of metal near it so that it made funny sounds. Both tribes of audience member seemed to like this. The South Park alike anorak wearers and the Gothy orcs crossed with Edward Scisserhands wunderkids smiled or grunted dependant on their evolutionary quirks.

The Duke and I moved on. As we walked we noted that bizarrely (at least to us) there had been a handful of spectacular women there. "So its true that some women find brains attractive?" I said. The Duke sagely shook his head and said "Some of us have just got to work with what we’ve got son. Get used to it"

We popped around the corner to Lounge Lover This cocktail bar, restaurant thing is very flash and very expensive. I agree its eclectically decorated and has nice pieces of furniture but I am going to surprise a lot of people when I say I thought it over rated. Ok so the decor cost lots, but if you covered it all with a fat layer of dust you might think it was Steptoe and Sons house (without the skeleton admittedly) I also think its a bit rich to get charged a 12.5% (or was it 15%?) service charge to be served at the bar, especially when the drinks are around the £8 mark anyway. The one good point here was our barman 'Simon Sheema' who does deserve credit for being expert, witty and inventive in his approach. For instance whilst we were there he was mixing up a Cognac and cream based cocktail of his own invention that used the herb rosemary. He called it a Mrs Robinson and I would think that a few of those could leave any young graduate corruptible. I'll stick my neck out and give this bar a year to live. Simon the barman should go much farther though.

As we left after a Mojito and a Sidecar each I began to think that eating earlier might have been a good idea. The Duke had sensibly munched though an oversize Upper Crust baguette on the way to Dorkbot.

I wanted to go home but accidentally ended up at Corney and Barrow Broadgate again at someone’s leaving do.

My evening ended at half eleven in the always reliable and always horrible Mcdonalds. Ah well when you need to eat you need to eat. The Duke ate again.

When I got home he texted me proudly to say that his flatmate had cooked dinner and left his in the oven. He'd eaten that to!. I’m thinking of re-titling him as ‘Three Dinner Duke’. I don't know where he puts it? Note to self: Research Tape Worms as I think he must have one?

This view was further strengthened after he got drunk at my house on Friday night and finished the evening by alarmingly cooking, then eating the entire contents of my fridge. If you ever fancy a huge plate of Pizza followed by Beef Tortellini, sausages, mash, ratatouille, tomatoes, new potatoes strawberries, beetroot and pickled onions (yes all, sickeningly piled, steaming on the same plate) Then you know who to call. I took one look at my Desperate Dan sized portion and felt sick. You wouldn’t believe it but he’s hardly a fat chap.

I went queasily back to drinking instead. He polished off the lot.

Flowery Chocolate Silk Things

The rest of the weekend passed swimmingly with the lovely Slinx. Roses (the flowers) Chocolates (from Paris) Champagne (from Oddbins) and Knickers (for her, not me) all added up to a very lovely time.

Save The Routemaster!!

I have known for a while that Ken the Mayor Livingston has wanted to hatchet the beautiful, functional and iconic 'proper' hop on-hop off Routmaster London Bus. and I had noticed the huge bendy, stupid monolithic cattle trucks trying to struggle around corners in the center of Town but I didn’t realise that all of the Routmasters were to be axed!. Yes that’s right all of them. I know they’re not that clean and that the old and disabled can't clamber on to them well, if at all, but that’s surely not the whole point? They are a part of the fabric of this great city and I love them. I love the noise they make whilst idling at the traffic lights and the roar they make whilst they are accelerating. Also they have conductors, some of which can be proper characters. I fondly remember a conductor on the No 38 who used to sing Motown classics on a summers morning. He was so good everybody loved it. That was a few years ago now. I seem to recall he actually got signed for a record deal in the end.

So, they say that by next June all of them will be gone, leaving us all the poorer. Join me and campaign against it. Kick up a stink, write or email your MP. Better still start a street leafleting campaign and organise some marches!

Take to the streets and join the revolution! Alternatively email me and agree.

Until next time sweet things...

thegardener1969@msn.com

The Weekend

Prologue

Now, don't think I'm selling you short. As usual there were cocktails a plenty on Wednesday at Lab which I still think serves some of the best drinks in town. And of course restaurants. We went to Mon Plaisir. This is the oldest French restaurant in London and is always good. Its very busy sometimes and is set over a number of smallish rooms but it doesn't feel claustrophobic. Take a date there, or even your parents. Very French yet also very friendly.

The whole working week was a blur. It seems I'm working hard again, I'm not sure I like it!

With that in mind the end of the week was inevitable yet also unexpected.

The Main Event

The Duke, James 'The Dane' and myself moved through Friday London on a small mission. A few beers, then a few more. A laddish start to the night. The Duke left early as other engagements pressed. The Dane and I started at a safe spot, Blend, where due to my long term patronage my favorite barman experimented with new ideas on us. Some were nice, some were not, but my oh my, they were all strong. On, on, we thought and attacked Lab (yes I know again). I must note though, that their Sidecars are special. Then on again to The Phoenix for a stabiliser and a headcount. As far as we could ascertain there were still two of us. A blurry two of us admittedly but still standing.

Food at Eds Diner restored a little balance...

We toddled off to The Rex...

...where we bumped into Slinx and a couple of her female friends. At this point, the night started to become (as billed) unexpected.

Now as I'm sure some of you will know. I'm not averse to a quick pick me up and the three muses were not short. Soon I was chatty lucid and awake again. James at this point had a rest. His eyes were tired. Quite sensibly he made a gallant exit. He had fought valiantly considering he, unlike me, had managed to keep to his detox, no booze January.

3AM

It was decided (possibly by me) we should all travel to my house for more drinks. This doesn't happen often as I live quite a way out of town. None the less, we made it. On our arrival at Cat Cottage I think I may have said to someone that I had a headache. Slinx friend who seemed quite caring insisted that I should have an aspirin. At least I think that's what she said? Are aspirins also called "h'eees"?

From this point on I shall refer to Slinx's friend as the 'friendly herbalist'

I'm also beginning to realise that under that demure, butter woudnt melt exterior, Slinx is far more dangerous than previously thought. Where will it all end?

I didn't get out much for 10 years or so, much to the amusement of some. After Saturday morning I wish I had. I have a tiny inkling into why on earth people dance around for hours and hours, sometimes with happy grins on their faces.

Its a shame all good things have to end. I had a lovely time. I think they did to...

Was there a Saturday?

On Sunday we went and lay on the floor and watched the ceiling and the sun at the Tate Modern.

All in all, a charming weekend...I want it all over again.


thegardener1969@msn.com

A Storm, Some Pervy Weather...And Some Mice

Slinx is a very dangerous girl. I met her on Friday evening having a few drinks with her work colleagues. Within an hour she had them knocking back rounds of Tequila Slammers at La Perla. Bear in mind this was only 8.15. Protesting did no good. As soon as she had led her work mates on the road to an early collapse we left. As we left she smiled to herself saying "My work here is done" We, sensibly tripped off to the Theatre.

Hurricane

We went to see a one man play about the Snooker playing self-destructor Alex Higgins. The performance is one hour long and Alex is portrayed by Richard Dormer who, with his wife, choreographed this wonderful show.

It's powerful, humorous at times and enthralling. If you ever watched Alex Higgins play or heard talk of him you will be transfixed. Mr Dormer has created a masterpiece. If you never knew who Alex was and perhaps couldnt care a stuff about Snooker you will still be amazed at the story and the portrayal. With that energy, no wonder he won a stage best actor award.

I hear that Richard is only playing this until February 6th before the show goes to various venues here and around the world. After this, he has said, he will not be playing Alex any more. He says its too grueling and completely exhausting.

I don't doubt it.

Buy, beg or steal to go and see it. If you can get a ticket that is.

After that we went out and got very, very drunk.

Secretary

Watched on DVD:- Mmmmm. I recommend this film highly. Watch it with someone you are comfortable sitting next to and not (for instance) your Mum. I bet your Mum (or Dad) would rather watch it without you as I'm sure they would enjoy it. Sweet, sexual and dark, its rather enjoyable. A love story with charming fetish corkscrewed throughout. Perfect for a Sunday evening, a bottle of red and naughty company.

The review I have linked to captures it better than I have time to do...But don't be put off. I don't know anybody that woudn't find it positively enjoyable.

Buy or rent now. Oh and eat with ice cream.

Life is always stranger...

A good friend of mine has a friend. Now (you might say) that's not unusual. Her friend has a husband which is also not unusual. The thing is that her friends husband likes to dress occasionally in women's clothes, and also, serve.

Its not a new, sudden thing you understand. Apparently he always has, and my friends friend doesn't really mind because that's as far as he wants to take it. Almost.

He has asked my friend whether she would mind very much if she arrives home one evening after a hard day at work to find him dressed in a maids outfit. He will then cook her dinner, serve it to her, wash up, run her a scented bath and then leave.

My friend deserves to to be pampered without the usual pressure to reciprocate. My friends, friend would like a break so that when her husband is at home he plays like a man, and the husband wants to feel whatever it is that from time to time he would like to feel. I think, having been around a bit that they all will be happy. I hope that I'm not wrong.. I will keep you informed.

Do you think that they are playing with fire?

I wonder if the husband is the Bag Man?

Bag Man

I have new theory about the Bag Man.

I think he is really a modern day Pied Piper. I believe that late at night when London sleeps he whistles on his flute and skips between tube stations. As he plays, the underground Oliver Twist mice come to the surface and follow him, dancing.

From Liverpool Street to Earls Court they scurry the gutters with their smiles and shaggy coats and they clean the streets of detrius. If you are very late you may see them, I have...

The Mice Sing This!

Thank you to the search meister himself jonathan@sirtis.org.uk This is a man who knows the Interweb better than I know my own home... Hang on where am I again?

In reality of course the Bag Man is probably a right bastard who crushes small mammals for fun. What do I know eh?

Cocktail for the month of February

I'm late with this. Sorry teeming fans!

Its a short month, so...

This is a short cocktail

Sidecar (A 1920's classic)

You will need

Brandy
Triple Sec (Cointreau)
A Fresh Lemon
Ice
Cocktail Shaker
Somewhere to collapse

Hum the Dambusters theme whilst making this. Or have some one nearby to spank, for fun whilst mixing.

Place ice in the shaker
Add one quantity of brandy
Add one equal quantity of Triple Sec
Add the juice of a quarter to a third of a lemon

Shake hard for a while and serve into cocktail glasses.

Voila.

Be very, very careful with this. Do not attempt to be suave after a couple of these. Just face the fact that they damage you. Perhaps even permanently. They were built of sterner stuff back then.

The Gardener recommends that you take the bus or just sleep.

Has anyone noticed that Johnny Rotten is looking more and more like Darth Maul every day?

Is it just me?


thegardener1969@msn.com