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I know, I know.. I'm a day late, there's not long to wait.

Rural Pursuits

After a late night spent with the ever badly behaved Slinx, her work colleagues and strawberry vodka in a busy and quite fun bar called Nordic and some Italian food I remembered that I had to do something relatively important on Friday.

I had a meeting to go to in the middle of nowhere.

Fenland Council in North East Cambridge is not a place that many of you will have heard of. Quite rightly so in some ways. Imagine a large field surrounded by other large fields also surrounded by very large fields interspersed with run off streams that the locals would obviously have you call fens, though that is a wild overuse of artistic license, and finally chuck in more fields and the occasional badly planned village with lots of broken windows and you have the idea.

From a traffic jam behind a tractor I saw the biggest hay bales I have ever seen. They were as large as a Bethnal Green tower blocks and I wonder if they are built by giants, who even then would have to call on major industrial mechanised equipment? I took a photo. If you would like to see it just ask. You won't believe it if you do.

It was as I imagine Kansas to be, only with the occasional fish and chip shop.

Its easier to get to France than get to there. If you look on a map it pouts beguilingly at you like a saucy dancer and calls you on with come hither eyes "I'm just here sexy, look, I'm within your reach just come and get me". Just like most aforesaid dancers however it plays you, to tease you. When you get there you discover the dancer has long since danced off laughing to the wind and you are left surrounded by tragic, "I've no home to go to" regulars.

You might be able to tell but I thought it was a journey too far. However the meeting was OK, though my form, hampered by the previous nights vodka could have been sharper.

It was a long journey back.

Earth Moving

Saturday was spent starting some of the heavy work that the garden requires. I sometimes think I may have bitten off to much in having this space, and about this time of year is when the work starts. I got in a few hours of hard yards and then settled down for some TV Rugby before heading over to Slinx's for the finale.

England vs France (Six Nations decider in Paris)

England lost. France played very well.

England lost. Oh I said that?

The company I had the privilege to be with made it all less painful and I had a lovely dinner and evening.

Today.. Or it was.

I really threw myself at that outside space and began to make some dents. I laid 20 meters of edging. I dug the grass out from around the trees and made them neat. I cut the lawns. I rollered them. Blimey I worked hard. I even dug out what looked at a perfunctory glance to be, half a hectare of baby nettles.

Let me tell you a thing or two about baby nettles. Firstly, they lie. They are not babies at all. They look small but secondly their roots are like grown men’s legs, only they travel for miles each and every way, and on to the very center of the earth.

On a more enjoyable note I also sowed carrot seeds to join the parsnip seeds I let my visiting American Jason fella sow the week before.

Another few days like that and I may begin to have a semblance of control.

The cat did not witness these heroics. He stayed indoors. Instead the Deer looked on occasionally and the birds smiled.

thegardener1969@msn.com

The Secret

There is a secret book shop near where I work. I pass it on my cut through after I have been to the gym.

The shop is in a quiet and secret alley. Its a small shop with windows mostly obscured by old book jackets and it seems to sell only second hand books.

There are always interestingly titled tomes in the window and on a bookcase outside. I have never seen anyone inside the shop other than the book shop keeper.

He sits with his back to the window and always seems to be reading.

By the front door is a doorbell and a small handwritten sign. It says "If the shop is closed, please ring"

This intrigues me as the shop always appears to be open at all times of day and night. I assume that one night I may pass and it will be closed?

I wonder if the man lives in, or above the shop somewhere and would be happy to be woken or interrupted to allow someone to browse the collections of once, other peoples books?

I know a thing or two about the cost of living in London. In short, its dammed expensive and the occasional sale of a hardback copy of "Ideas of Future" circa 1978 in its tattered glory at £2.80 (marked in pencil on the inside cover) can't keep the wolves from the door...Unlesss.

a) The man is the great grandson son of a once great industrialist and has forsaken all wealth for his love of words.

b) The shop is a money laundering operation connected to international crime.

There are probably countless probababilities.

I think its touching and I will get to the bottom of it.

In the meantime I shall create a story based on this starting point.

I may share it with you soon. Or I may find out the truth and spoil it for us all.

I shall buy a book though.

thegardener1969@msn.com

Normality Returns

The week ended loudly. The Duke and his friends had a spare ticket for dance music loud people, Basement Jaxx who were playing at the Brixton Academy. They kindly invited me.

I went along and moshed with the rest. It was indeed loud and very hot. In fact parts of me are still trembling.

I'd like to comment further but I'm still making my mind up.

As for the rest of the weekend I spent it mixed up with Rugby, pub, gardening and Slinx. An unusual combination I grant you but a pleasant one most definitely.

So now its Monday and I'm beginning to find my equilibrium again. I last saw it under the sofa I think?

I shall post something observant and hopefully witty later in the week, for now I'm just checking in.

Hope you are good.

thegardener1969@msn.com

I'll be Back...

Tommorow.

The Things I put Myself Through

Bloody hell. The things I put myself through in the interests of lightening your coffee break. Sometimes even I can't take the pace, and like now, find myself with a throbbing head and slight tremors in my hands.

It all started when I received a visitor on Tuesday evening who I haven't had the pleasure of carousing with for a number of years. Jason, for that is name, is my Brother's wife's' stepbrother and he was visiting this fair isle from his home in the US of A. He's a very well traveled American having spent nearly 10 years living and working in The Czech Republic. That place taught him to party!.

Tuesday night was a catch up in the pub followed by a large amount of scotch.

Wednesday saw us take in bits of the British Museum. Jason is studying to become a Marine Archeologist which seems to me to be a strange but watery profession in that should he find a shed load of solid gold dubloons from the spanish main while grubbing about at the bottom of some abyss somewhere he's not allowed to keep any of them? In fact when these types get their accreditations they sign a pledge not to. A strange old business indeed, apparently Indy was shabby thief!

I bought a pad and a pencil from the gift shop in case I felt the urge to write anything down. The pencil was not sharpened so I enquired of the kiosk whether I could borrow a sharpener. I could. I sharpened. And sharpened. My sharpening was in vain as the lead was broken throughout and in the end I was left just holding an eraser. The kind lady found me another unsharpened pencil and sharpened that one instead until it worked. She blamed schoolchildren who like tap the pencils and then put them back to be sold to unsuspecting types like me. Be warned. Anyway, enough pencil action for now. More later...

We started off the evening in the secret pub and then charged in to West Soho to

Two Floors

Good bar. The review is pretty accurate. We got into the drinks and were joined by the beautiful and ravishing Slinx who stole the show in a cherry red Trilby hat. Men were dropping their drinks all around. She really seems not to realise it though? We were soon treated to an unexpected guest appearance by The Duke. Eight armed and forewarned we got into some more drinks. We then started drawing Elephants in the pad from the museum with the successfully sharpened pencil. Jason broke the rules by drawing a very good Flamingo. Apparently he entertains his two year old daughter like that. It worked on me and The Duke. At this point Slinx, unusually sensibly reminded us that food would be a good thing.

Busaba Eathai

Wardour Street. Slinx led us here. This place is great! Some reviews have complained about the service. We had no problems even though it was rammed busy. Perhaps that cheeky red Trilby got us noticed? You sit on communal tables that seat about 10 people, so don't expect a private chat but a lively time. The good thing about this is that you can see up close what other peoples food looks like. And, if you ask nicely like I did you can taste other peoples food to help you make your choice. Thanks leather clad Soho biker fellas! I had a fantastic chili, duck and tomato Thai Curry. It was the best meal I've had in long time. Not bad on the wallet either, Our dinner for four with rice, a beer each and water cost just over 50 squid not including the little squid tentacles in Slinx fish stir fry. Sadly she didn't like those but Jason and The Duke weighed in with heavy artillery and hoovered them up.

The evening for Jason and I ended at Lab with Sidecars from Tim the barman.

We rolled home...

Wednesday...

After a late start courtesy of nightcap vodka's we had a watery day and went to see the Cutty Sark and The Maritime Museum in Greenwich.

Luckily we also found a good pub to have a late lunch in, after all it was St Patricks Day.

Then we nipped to The Tate Modern. If you haven't been you should go. Forget the art perhaps? Just marvel at the building.

The tide on the Thames was the lowest I have ever seen it and Jasons eyes lit up as he pointed out rotted posts and wooden walls that were hundreds and hundreds of years old. Well we had to didn't we? We went on a Marine Archeology dig on the beach opposite the Tate.

I am now the proud owner of very old clay pipes and bits of ceramic. Yet more lovely clutter for me!

A couple of pints and the evening was upon us.

The Cantaloupe

Out Old Street way this is a really good place to start a wild night. The bar is funky, loud, boho fashionable and lively with plenty of Hoxton haircuts to amuse you. Also the restaurant was really very good indeed. The drinks were good. They mix a great Bloody Mary.

More bars happened. Things started to get silly so we cranked it up to danger time.

Mother

So good I'll treat you to two reviews

ViewLondon Review

ItchyLondon Review

This place is why my head is throbbing and my hands have the tremors. What a great night, and this was a Wednesday!

The DJs were fantastic, the place was exploding. By 3 AM the place was flying and everybody in it was seriously but happily wasted on their drug of choice. Who knows if anyone there had to work on Thursday but this crowd was going for it. We joined them. Its not big, but it is clever. Go and be properly decadent children.

Luckily I had booked the morning off.

I thought I felt bad when I got up but when I saw Jason I knew I'd fulfilled my mission.

London is a seriously up beat and wild city at the moment. Other than the nagging fear that someone will blow up the tube...

thegardener1969@msn.com

Starsky And Hutch

I really thought that we all agreed that the late 70's were best forgotten. In fact I thought we had decided that other than of course the Mowtown sound, the memories and any left over 'fashion' items should have been squished under a giant rolling pin, wrapped in newspaper and thrown to the bottom of the deepest hole in the deepest flooded disused and condemned mine that one could find. Preferably on another planet.

Well I must have been wrong? Watching Starsky and Hutch, the new Warner Brothers comedy remake of the TV cop show of the same name from that unspeakable decade at the Rex on Thursday Night I found myself wishing they were back.

That's all because of the fantasy though. In reality we were all poor and lived in damp caves in the 70's.

Who cares though? For a hundred odd minutes I had a really great time and judging by the smiles on everybody else's faces when the lights came up so did everybody else. So its not going to change the world but it made a refreshing change to the usual Hollywood comedy fare of slapstick teenage flicks or slightly over saccharine takes on growing up, or indeed getting old . Or perhaps there is lots of good stuff out there? I just might have missed it?

Mismatch cop partners/ murder/cocaine baron/THE CAR/That theme tune/chunky knitwear/Wry humour/affectionate homage/Big hair/Huggy Bear... Oh and girls snogging each other...mmmmmmm Carmen Electra...*sigh* mmmmmm Amy Smart, mmm *cough* sorry , yes right.

Feel good all over with the great smell of Brut.

On the stereo 'The Scissor Sisters' Funk comin atchya..

thegardener1969@msn.com

The Magic of Theatre X 2

Wednesday is always a strange night, you should be at home, you should be at the gym, you should be speaking to your Mother. Who knows, you should be doing something sensible because there are two full working days left ploughing the furrows of commerce.

I went out.

The Duke had tickets to the theatre, but that show didn't start until 9.30 so we had a small drink first then headed on foot toward Soho. Our journey at around 7.20 led us past the Shaftesbury Theatre. As we walked past I was accosted by a heroin addled beggar. You see this a lot in London and when it is as cold as it was that night most of the non drug dependent homeless have moved off the streets. The olde phrase "Brass Monkeys" come to mind.

This chap was persistent, 10p for a shelter" he asked. I said "Sorry I won't, besides a shelter is free and whilst there might not be enough you can, I'm sure get in somewhere" He tailed me as I kept walking, and he kept asking... He gave up.

He re-focused on The Duke who, was by now 50 yards behind me. Where the "f**k?" I thought as I turned round.

I should have guessed. There he was talking to an attractive young woman. They said goodbye and he chased up to me. He was followed by the beggar who was looking for "`10p towards a cup of tea"

I tried to ask him what on earth had been going on there? He tried to tell me. Through all this the now animated but still polite bedraggled chap looking to collect small change bobbed and weaved between us in an lively but sadly desperate way.

In the end it turned out that The Duke had been stopped by a femme fatal who had decided she didn't fancy the magic of theatre after all that night. And her friends hadn't turned up. I don't know, that kind of thing doesn't happen to me. Perhaps its his hormones? Did he get her number? I'm beginning to realise that there is a reason his phone has an extended memory chip.

So there we were.

It was 7.25 and we had 2 free tickets for the show starting in 5 minutes.

Ahh, The West End. The theatre, the magic, lights, chorus and errrm, a bar in the stalls that didn't sell alcohol. What is this town coming to?

We found another bar. Wisely, it sold Gin and Tonic's. The highlight at this point could have come straight out of a silent Ealing comedy.

Picture the scene. I am ordering the aforesaid Gin and Tonics. The Duke's eyes cast around the half empty bar and spot a glossy (and possibly expensive) program lost on the back wall leaning counter. He picks it up and says "Oh look a program these cost few quid you know!" The group of half a dozen businessmen a few yard down the counter all have programs in their hands and other than them any other punters are well away or filing towards the door for the imminent start of the show. I pay for the drinks as The Duke nips casually into the gents.

As he enters another man leaves. He is wearing a suit. They pass in the doorway. They have to make way for each other. The business man heads towards the back wall leaning counter. The Duke disappears.

I hear the business man (possibly on a once in a year junket to the big smoke) speak to his colleagues "Errm, has anyone seen my program?

His friends laugh. "Your always losing things you plonk" says one. And with that they charge for the seats.

A couple of minutes later The Duke returns accompanied by his program.

I said nothing. After all it would be shame to spoil it.

If only he realised that his timing was comedy perfection.

Thoroughly Modern Millie

Big show. We sat on an isle seat, a good view. The Flappers went flap. The chorus screeched. In fact they really did screech. Oh, and danced. Whilst it was clear that the cast was working hard something was very broken. It really is not good to be screeched at by whole choruses of women intent on pretending that they have Neow Yrrrk accents from 84 years ago.

After 20 minutes The Duke looked at me and I looked at him. We fled.

There are better things to be doing than that


Food Theme On a Stick


We continued on our way. The beggar having harvested the change he needed for shelter/tea/horse had gone. It was still cold.

I felt uneasy about the restaurant we choose for some pre-theatre nibbles. I was right.

Nadines 23-24 Greek Street

This place looks the part. Think Greek, Lebanese and Moroccan as a mix and add Conrans baby son. You might say "Ok, the food should be as good as the cushions". It wasn't.

We had a few starters each. Eastern Tapas if you will. Mezzo of you won't.

Don't go. The food is edible but it all tastes the same and leaves an oily film on the roof of the mouth that is not pleasant. If that's authentic I don't want it.

The manager (or owner?) to his credit agreed with me. He said he was still working with the chef. I would have liked to have suggested that he should try working with the chef by actually speaking to him as obviously the telepathic hints weren't working. I am however far to polite and we parted on amicable terms. Though with funny breath?

One memory I do have of this, is that the manager-owner never blinks. A little like James Earl Jones as 'Thulsa Doom' in the old (but memorable) flick Conan The Barbarian. Only fatter like Omar Sharif. Oh, sod it! Go anyway just to see if his eyes ever move...

Theatre Finally Works

We got there in the end.

All I Want Is A British Passport!

This was fabulous. Just under one hour, a monologue touched with poignancy and excellent humor. If you get the chance, go and see it. I say that unreservedly.

There is so much I could add but for once its better to go yourself. In the face of such excellence this Gardener will sit quietly and enjoy.

We ended up at Lab..

I haven't even started on Thursday night.


thegardener1969@msn.com

Orchids a Go Go

Last week was busy, but by the time Friday came I was ready for a break. I ended up at The Albany. This is a big pub at the top of Great Portland Street. That's if you regard Euston Road as the top.

The pub was fun as it was full of nice people, most of whom seemed to be friends of Slinx. Which I suppose you wouldn’t regard as odd being as it was drinks for her birthday.

How on earth do you accumulate so many friends? Well that's girls for you I suppose?

Us chaps make do with a small handful of long standing ones. In many cases these are from our younger years and even if you have moved apart or even don't actually like each other you still get close when you can. A bit like old pants I suppose? After all, us blokes don't like to throw things away, and we don't much like shopping either. Ahh I think I just worked out the friends thing. Friends and pants, these are constants that a well grounded man likes to keep until they are properly dead and beyond any use at all. Perhaps we should take a leaf from the female of the species and replace the worn out ones occasionally? Nah, that would be too complicated.

Anyway, as I was saying. I was in The Albany which was lively and very North Noho media-chicken in terms of clientele. It also had a downstairs after hours club type thing which we didn't venture into as we (or at least I on account of forgetting to eat) were lashed by 10 PM. As indeed was everyone else I think?

The only thing I will say is that the "Cor Guvna" Black cab driver that whisked me there informed me with many a nod through his rear view mirror that when he was a lad that it was a place of much notoriety. Indeed he said when he was a younger buck about town "There were strippers downstairs and it was well hokey, cos they didn't just strip!". He tapped his finger to his nose "all sorts went on, the nights we had you wouldn’t believe" He had a wistful look in his eye.

I did look around but I assume the girls must have retired by now?

Kew Gardens

On Sunday Slinx and I went to view the Orchid exhibition at Kew. The traffic was murder and as is the way of places the coffee shop was packed with very slow moving people and children. Whilst I was in a queue for a coffee and some water a small child on a tiny three wheeled tricycle kept rolling back and forth and attempting to run over my foot. Parental control isn't what it should be so I simply placed my foot on his wheel so he couldn't move. I looked very, very stern as he looked up at me wondering who had dared to stop him being so special that he could always do what he wants. He looked a little nervous. He should have. Seen and not heard, that's what I say.

Don't get me started ;)

The Orchids were wonderful, but then again the whole of Kew Gardens are wonderful. For a day out I recommend them to anyone. The Victorian built 'Palm House' is especially fabulous. Climb the wrought Iron staircase and hang about in the tree tops.

I'm going out to the theatre tomorrow, then I'm out on Thursday and then its Friday so don't expect an update till the weekend. Though you never know I may surprise you.

Oh yes I nearly forgot...

Odontoglossum Crocidipterum

I bought some of these as baby seedling Orchids in a flask at Kew. I've just potted them all up and they are now sitting all warm and cosy in a propagator. These are apparently from Venezuela though the label says a nursery in County Durham. I've never been to either of those places and I have no idea how they will turn out. I shall keep you posted. There are 6 (or possibly 7?) If you would like to name one please send me your suggestions and I will write a tag and send you school reports.

In other gardening news I cut the lawns today and installed some 'easy lay' edging. Gardening Time is here again. Hum a happy tune!


thegardener1969@msn.com

Still Thinking

Odontoglossum crocidipterum

... baby ones...

Now thats got you thinking hasn't it?

Soon my beauties...

Bournemouth by the Sea

The jury is still out on this place. It's enough for me to admit that it does exist. It also has a pier, which I walked on. The shop that sells rock was shut though. I'm not often denied so I shall muse on for a while.

More to come, soon...


thegardener1969@msn.com

Dubious Recognition At Last!

In a totally unexpected display, The Hoathster has created a blog page that contains just the best bits from my column.. for some anyway (and we will have less of the 'column' jokes please you at the back)

I'm very grateful to him, and flushed with good feelings that he understands genius when he sees it. He has complied a list which contains nothing but my Cocktails of the month.

Thank you Hoathster!

Note: For an interesting evening simply print the page out and hand it to your Cocktail barman so removing the need for unnecessary conversation. Whether you start last or first or in an order of your choice you can bet the conversation will falter before to long anyway.

Enjoy!

I give you

The Cocktails Of The Month in one 'easy-wipe' blog..

thegardener1969@msn.com

Scotch, Sea Sides and Sad News

I seem to have a minor cold developing. I do hope I'm not sniffling away all week! Especially as Slinx has returned from a holiday in Goa and is seems to be sickeningly sexy, healthy and tanned. Jealous? Moi? Never, I love toil and a lack of sunshine.

My cocktail for the month of March, which I know you have been waiting for, is partly influenced by my shivery state. Its another classic, harking back to the bad old days when life was much simpler.

Cocktail for the month of March

Rob Roy, also called a Scotch Manhattan

You will need

Yourself...
Some whiskey
Sweet Vermouth (that's the reddish martini usually)
Ice
A mixing glass
An implement for stirring
Cocktail Glasses
Cocktail (glace) cherries

Instructions: This is so simple that an imbecile can do it. Yes.... Even you.

Chill mixing glass, the implement and the cocktail glasses.
Place a few cubes of ice in the mixing glass
Pour 1 measure of Sweet Vermouth over the ice
Pour 2 measures of Whiskey over the ice
Stir gently with your implement in a slow, Kung Fu Master type of way
Strain into cocktail glasses (i.e leave the ice behind)
Garnish with a cherry

Enjoy. Its warming but not to everyone's taste. Though it is a beautiful colour.

Notes: This drink is very variable depending on which whiskey you are using. If you shop at Netto and only have own brand whiskey called "Highland Tiny Grouse" that was made from tap water and flavorings with an alcohol pill added later, then you may still enjoy it, but it will improve with a better brand. If you make this drink with a blended whiskey it is of course then a 'Manhattan' If you use Glenmorangie Single Malt (Sherry Wood Finish, as I do if you wondered) then it is of course a Rob Roy.

And a very nice one at that.

Sea Sides

Tomorrow I foolishly have to drive to Bournemouth for a meeting. I agreed to this when I really couldn't remember how far it was away. I now realise its 134 miles away and oh! am I looking forward to it. Bizarrely (at least to me) I find I also have a meeting in Margate next week. Now I don't normally travel from the Fortress that much, lest I get lost, but two seaside towns in two weeks is more than a coincidence. I shall bring back rock!

Sad News

I read the news today, oh boy...

I actually watched it. Those few of you loyal readers that actually know me in person will be aware that I have a serious side. My serious side was moved tonight. This blog can't always be light and banter you know, sometimes I have to say.

170 dead.

In one day.

I woudnt like to be in Iraq, I woudn't have liked to make decisions about whether to even send someone else to Iraq. Normally I would rather just argue why I think we shoudn't have done it.

The news I saw today was so sad and so pointless it defies arguments about policy or direction. It is currently, obviously just a terrible, terrible place to be.

I think we are all very glad to have grown up in a different world entirely. I feel for them.

The Last Letter

Alistair Cooke, one of the last great English broadcasters has retired aged 95. He had been broadcasting since 1946 and is, to me an icon.

Those of you that do know him will know his thoughts and amazing presentation skills from his weekly broadcast. "Letter From America" I urge you to seek his broadcasts out and listen. Sometimes I didn't agree with him, sometimes you wont, but, he always had the most magical ability to keep you hanging on every, properly pronounced word. I hope he doesn't fade away completely and keeps spluttering on to break the century.

Respect to Alistair Cooke

And the Rob Roy's going down well to.

Tomorrow I shall tell you what I think of Bournemouth...