Spitfires are back, and with Finns!

Now we all know a little about spitfires don’t we?. And some of us know a little about Finns.

In my case, as a schoolboy my history project was entitled  ‘Military Aircraft of World War 2’, So that just leaves Finns. They say they are from somewhere called Finland.  I’m not sure exactly where it is but some of them are blond and I hear it’s quite cold. 

More importantly when I was a schoolboy I was so busy comparing Hurricanes to Spitfires and setting fire to the cotton wool I had stuffed into the fuselage of my Airfix model Messerschmitt ( 'BF109e’ if you are a military pedant) before hurling it into the air to watch excitedly as it crashed to the ground leaving a smoking trail so trying single handedly in my early teenage mind to recreate Douglas Bader’s legless-pipe-smoking-smoke-me a kipper-I’ll-be back-before-breakfast victories over the Hun that I simply had no idea there was to more fun to be had with them when one is a grown up. I didn’t do Finn’s then and as far as I knew they hadn’t invented any flying machine-gun-mounted-death-machines. And their military victories aren’t recorded in many places that I can find, but that may just be because they are modest, and a little like the Swiss, quite a secretive bunch.

I’ve looked them up now and the only thing I can add is that I already knew who Mika Hakkinen is (a very balanced normal Finn who drives a funny car) is that there is more than ten thousand of them in London.  And I think that’s possibly more of them than there are in Finland.  Though they are also famous for a few things, one of which may be of interest depending on how nerdy you are, which is that the coldest temperature (probably) in the whole universe was ‘made’ by a Finn, in a laboratory.  That’s obviously, as you already knew dear reader -273C The mind boggles as to what they do for fun. Though I hope it warms them up. Frottage anyone?

Personally, being grammatically challenged I wonder why if they are from ‘Finland’ why they are called ‘Finns and not just ‘Fins’without the extra ‘n’ (any ideas, please advise?) which would make more sense to me, but I suppose that every French person would just view them as, well, ‘Finished?’ Then again that might explain the military history.. Hmm, just saying?

I digress, so back to Spitfires, and real Finns. Your man is back on the trail. I know, I know! Calm down at the back, you've been patient and it’s been too long but I need to give you a long awaited “Cocktail of the Week” one of which I enjoyed tonight in the company of she who I shall just refer to as “The Finn” We shared a chatty dinner and as she is a good friend and confidant she suggested a quick snifter before home time in a bar in Angel, Islington (that’s in London for International readers) called “The Bar With No Name” or simply ‘69 Colebrooke Row’. There they served me, without any tricky prompting the nicest and best ‘Spitfire’ cocktail that has graced my lips since the fall of Pompeii, and believe me that was a hot night which I only just survived! IT was foamy, zesty, tingly, quaffable and downright lovely.. and worth the tenner of BOE funny money that isn’t related to anything anyway. You might as well pay for drinks with leaves such is the connection between our fiscal system and value these days. I’d have happily paid a wheelbarrow full and it’s February so leaves are harder to collect than you might assume.

I’ll take their recipe from a nice review of them at

http://londonforinsiders.blogspot.com/2010/10/londons-best-cocktail-bars-69_02.html

They make it as it says here from cognac, creme de peche, white wine, lemon juice and sugar. It’s beautifully executed.

The bar is nice too. Go there,  though I think you usually have to book.

As for the Finn, well she’s nice too, also foamy, zesty, tingly, quaffable and downright lovely.

All in all a good evening.

Now back to work slackers, all is safe, I’m on the case and Ian is in the Falklands causing trouble. Back soon, if you can wait.

The Gardener

http://www.69colebrookerow.com/

http://www.hakkinen.com/

This post was written with the help of  Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine.  And their track Sheriff Fat Man. See/ hear it here http://www.nme.com/musicvideos/carter-usm-sheriff-fatman/144133

I've done your work for you. That's all you need to know today.

My God it's been a long time! Ian in the Pitcairn's


So, I've just been reminded that I've been using this Internet thing for so long some of my original posts are on parchment and kept in fusty archives. You will know of course that parchment was actually invented after an order by a King of a city called Pergamon. He did so because the Egyptians wanted to control the worlds information as they controlled the production of Papyrus, until then the only portable thing you could write / scribe on. Shades of an early SOPA law there, but as if it hasn't always been about information and the masses. No change here.. Nothing to see, keep stupid, keep poor and we will keep rich.

So what have I been doing? All sorts but just an update. the deer are still here. my taste in bars clubs has become more eclectic, and I'm getting grey hair.. for Christmas. In fact I'm getting more of it every year from now.

That hasn't dimmed my spirit though. Oh no.. Time for more.

But this post I'm going to dedicate to my mate Ian who I first met in the Stanhope Tavern opposite Gloucester Road Tube station some 22 years ago. A few of you (friends) will know Ian. Yes him, the big hairy Australian with the massive vagrant-alike-beard. That Ian who spends his spare time travelling the world and returning with stories of adventure like a boys own explosion of testosterone and travel stores.

In the old days I used to get a letter or so a year.. then maybe two. Now, with phones and texts and emails we can find out where he is right now, and at 3AM this morning the text came in.

"Wake up mate it said" Are you still slaving to keep the BOE printing funny money? Thought so. I'm on Pitcairn island. Arrived a couple of days ago and all 48 of the islands population met us on the landing dock. just as we arrived the rain hit and we had 6 cm in an hour.. The weather station broke and a mud slide nearlhy wiped us and the tiny town out (check the news) Anyway, I've been staying with Steve Christian the great, great, great, great etc etc grandson of Fletcher Christian and his folks and have spent the last three days shoveling mud and drinking beer. All good. Off to Chile tomorrow and then to the Falklands the next day. Its my Ends of the Empire Mini Tour"

That woke me up. Some people just do things you don't, don't they? But the good thing about that is that they tell you.

Ian says he sent me a post card from the Pitcairn's, but it will be "inshalla" if it gets to me and he's promised to get me a pic of him and Prince William in the Falklands. I did ask him to try not to annoy the Argentinians but his response was "Why, they f*cking lost didn't they?"  Always a diplomat Ian.. And we both know he's been personally responsible for at least 3 proper wars. We don't count skirmishes.

So before you fire up your laptop or order your skinny machiwanko coffee bear in mind that some people still have proper jobs and there are bits of this planet that are being visited just in case you can't make it.

Makes the mortgage and the Quantitative Easing seem really important doesn't it?

Right scotch, Cuban cigar and then bed. I still have my standards you know.

Back soon.

The Gardener.