Falling Over

This week I've mostly been falling over or off things. Sometimes I’ve been walking into things. I obviously haven’t been doing this on purpose and I think it must just be one of those easily explainable things, a sort of; I haven’t fallen over much since I was a kid and, well that was quite a long time ago so I shouldn’t worry about it as I'm probably just due a few; type of thing.

I fell of my bike first, that was on Thursday. It happened as I crossed over the canal bridge at Picket's Lock that morning on the way to work. I had forgotten that I had changed my bike types for smoother faster ones and as a consequence I would have less grip on the rough stuff but be faster on the road. I remembered I'd changed them suddenly as the bike shot away from me on shale and I was reminded again of a school physics lesson on gravity, mass, friction and enforced deceleration or some such that I hadn’t listened very hard to.

I was alright, sort of. The back wheel on my bike was a bit bent and the path scratches on my shoulder and back are healing nicely but overall there was no real harm done.

Then on Friday I walked awkwardly into the back of a tall chair. Whilst this doesn’t sound like much the chair was jammed against a table so didn’t give way. It just scratched my side quite painfully.

And today I fell over whilst being chased by a wasp in my garden. It was a similar event as the cycling accident in that the sandals I was wearing at the time (Yes I know! But it is my garden and I was alone) don't have much grip at high speed whilst trying to turn sharply.

Ah well, another grazed knee.

Wasps

Yes, the wasps have not gone away. They are just pissed off. Cutting the lawn today or even just trying to sit out and read the paper was not as serene as it usually is. I'm pissed off with them to, and whilst their puny and aggressive little brains might think they have the better of me they are wrong. And they are shortly dead. I have a phone, and fingers to dial numbers on it with. The wasp man will come back and finish the job. Oh yes he will...

Ibiza Madness

It was The Duke who suggested, planned and manned the '24 hours in Ibiza Trip' So I should have realised it might be a long night. Some regular readers may recall that this lad and myself have had some good nights out before and this was obviously to be no different, just slightly far away. And I had never been before, so it seemed important.

The four of us, The Duke, Mike, Lu and Me arrived at Ibiza airport on Saturday at about 10 AM. The sun was shining and it was warm :) I had almost forgotten what proper sunshine felt like.

We got in to a cab and Mike turned to the driver, smiled and said two words "Bora Bora" The driver (late thirties, all Spanish stubble and chest hair) threw his head back, laughed out loud, smiled at us  and turned some funky music on.  An unusual reaction from a cabbie I thought but much better than a scowl.

By 10.30 we were on the beach right in front of the apparently infamous Bora Bora bar. The bar has some big speakers hanging around and these were pulsing Balearic beat gently and not to loudly across the beach. We had drinks in hand and all was nice.

As it was so early it was quiet but as the day wore on more and more people arrived. The music kept picking up in time with the arrivals and by early afternoon it was busy and everybody was swaying, laughing chatting and foot tapping.

Very different to Hyde Park on a Summer Saturday afternoon I mused. I was foot tapping to,  and smiling. The crowd on the beach seemed to be mostly Spanish, I guess its their holiday destination too?

4.30PM, As if a switch was thrown it suddenly seemed that everybody was either swaying or up on their feet dancing, I looked toward the bar and it was packed with people dancing, some on the tables. The music was fantastic and there were arms in the air. I suppose you have your idyllic quiet beaches around the world where you can be fed hand-reared lobster ice cream and hardly see another sole for a week and that’s certainly one kind of trip. This beach though was amazing and the atmosphere was something else.

Pacha

We left the beach around 7.30 as Lu and Mike had managed to find us a hotel shower room for a small fee for an hour. We changed for the evening and headed to the restaurant at the super club Pacha for a 10.30 table.

I had found out before the trip that if you ate at the Pacha restaurant and spent over 40 Euros a head you didn't have to pay to get in. Being as entrance was going to be 40 or 50 Euros anyway this seemed like a free meal. It was excellent food, wine, ambiance and service.

The restaurant is lovely, very hacienda in style. We were the first people there other than one table where a man sat alone, immaculate in a fine tailored blue linen suit. He was in his 50's or older and had an impeccably trimmed white beard. The staff kept smiling and various people came and spoke briefly to him. He had the air of a very wealthy man and this was his domain. He was possibly one of the owning family? With his age he may even have been a founder. Pacha opened, though was tiny then, on the same site 31 years ago. It would fit? By the time we left the restaurant it was packed with European fashion conscious and monied types. It was a bit over the top. This was obviously one of the places to be on a Saturday night.

The club was extraordinary. We were early in, so it was quiet, but people kept arriving and arriving. We spent allot of time on the upstairs terrace just swaying, sitting and people watching. We had various dancing forays and lots of conversations around the stupendous drink prices. 8 Eros for a glass of water, 15 Euros for a voka tonic etc. It didn’t really matter as there cant really be anywhere quite like this place anywhere else can there. It reminded me of the restaurant at the end of the universe from Douglas Adams hitch hikers guide to the galaxy.

There must have been 20 bars in the club, numerous rooms, the huge terraces the massive sunken dance floor, the dancers and the music simply got better and better. In truth it really got to busy to dance and the main areas were rammed. There must have been thousands of people there. It doesn't mean much to me but The Duke was quite excited that he had been standing right next to a chap called Mike Manumission.

We were all feeling the pace a bit by now as we had been awake for around 24 hours straight. I had been mixing my potions a bit and I have to admit it was all a bit to much and I took a funny turn. All was ok though,  I had simply been out-partied.

Around 5 we left the club past some people still queuing to come in!. (It finishes at 8AM) and took a cab back to the beach where we slept on the sand until we were woken by the dawn and small knots of clubbers dancing in the half light to car stereos playing that same, never ending Ibiza beat We walked up to the super club Space to get a cab to the airport. Space was just opening to start its "We love Space" Sunday through to Monday 22 hour dance fest. There were queus to get in... people were arriving after Saturday night to carry on. They had more stamina than us ;)

We were back at my house for much needed BLT's by lunchtime on Sunday. 

We were absolute wreckage. I can't wait to go back! It may be in September....

In other news the man came and took the wasps away today. 
  

Joined Up Government

I went to Westminster today to meet some government mandarins. The great, the good and the irrelevant had been asked to come in for an afternoon of discussion about the perils of email spam.  
 
The nice chap who introduced the discussions was from our Department of Trade and Industry and his business card said he was their 'Director of Broadband' I pointed out that sounded like it might be a narrow subject on its own? He agreed and didn't notice the irony. Instead he talked about how he had managed to expand his remit to embrace other Interweb and electrickery problems. Well, those are my words not his.  
 
I don't have much hope that he will get that far as I think to succeed and push things through you need a strong vision and some determination. When he addressed us all for the introductions he opened with an apology that he wouldn’t be able to stay for the evening reception, as "his wife wouldn’t let him".  He then went on to use his memory of school dinners to explain why he was possibly so angry about spam. At the end he gave the floor to a nice young lady who was nervously called Heather and would be chairing us. He closed as strongly as he began by saying he had to go to find out what he was supposed to do next from his PA as she didn't let him keep his own schedule in case he lost it.  
 
These attempts at humorous endearment didn't really raise a chuckle from the assembled throng as we could tell from the weak smile that sadly, they were true.  
 
However we soldiered on throughout the afternoon and after much heated debate between consumer and business bodies, international law enforcement agencies, ISP's and Spam experts (i.e. me / my company - see ArmourPlate) We really nailed the problem for future generations.
 
We all agreed the following..  
 
1. Spam is a problem and spammers are bad people who make lots of easy money whilst we don’t necessarily.  
 
2. Someone or everyone should try and do something about it.  
 
3. Your basic computer user doesn’t know anything.
and
4. None of us including the DTI could decide how the government is going to get good press out of it.
 
Aren’t you proud?  
 
At the end of all this we were given canapés and wine whilst an actual Minister in the thin, crow like, yet intense form of Steven Timms (Rt Hon Minister for Communications) gave a small speech saying how pleased he was that the problem was being tackled in an organised fashion. He then introduced the Managing Director (UK) of Microsoft who told us how spam was their number one priority and that he wanted to work with us all. I don’t think anyone believed him as his portly fingers, fresh from many a palm greasing lunch kept trying to stop themselves crossing.  
 
Microsoft had paid for the nibbles.  
 
It was interesting in a way though, and to see the wheels of government in slow operation was as always an eye-opener. In short, expect nothing much soon.  
 

Saturday Night Ibiza Madness

 
 
I haven’t been sleeping very well lately,  and I am a bit under the weather. It’s been a stressful time. I hope however that I have restored myself by the weekend as my good friend The Duke has organised a weekend trip of serious financial and mental irresponsibility.  
 
Flying out on Saturday morning early we shall be on the beach in Ibiza by lunchtime, after that it will no doubt get blurry as we are all of to Pacha.  We shall leave Pacha on Sunday morning and fly straight back to Blighty.   I shall obviously be here on Sunday afternoon. We shall see whether I manage to write anything other than a plea to my bank manager before Monday.  
 

Wasps

 
 
Wasps have their place I’m sure. Just not around me. I have a nest of wasps in the garden in one of the compost bins. I don't like this. On Monday a man is coming from the council to make them go away. He's charging me £37.  I wonder how they reached that figure? Is it per wasp averaged by how many wasps in a nest over a period of years or what?
 
I don't know. Do you? 
 
TG
 

Cricket at Lords

On Thursday I went to see some cricket at Lords Cricket Ground, the headquarters of the game. I had never been to watch a cricket match before even though I do enjoy listening to it on the radio (test match special, BBC Radio 4 of course)

It was a new type of game, called 20 / 20 cricket; in short each side has to score as many runs as possible in just 20 overs. For those of you aren’t aware an over is a series of 6 balls bowled. For those of you who are even less aware than that I am not going to use this opportunity to explain what cricket is, or its rules, now even its subtleties. 20 overs though is not very many and the whole match including the half hour interval for the sides to change over took from 5.30 to 8.30 in the evening. Its a taster game if you like to attract impatient types and new viewers as a 'proper' cricket match can last up to 5 days and often obscurely neither side will actually win.

This is possibly why it has never really caught on in America.

The other thing about this type of cricket is that the cricketers don't even bother to dress properly in white flannels. Instead Surrey wore dark blue 'pyjama stile sports kits whilst the other side (Middlesex) wore black.. or a darker blue. I'm not quite sure if I have that the right way round but you get the idea. Sadly the umpires didn’t wear shirts, blazers and ties either but some red polo shirt and 'slacks' ensemble that made them look all the world like strangely middle aged holiday reps. Or possibly golfers. Also the ball is white rather than deep lustrous cherry red. All a bit rum really.

Lords in an excellent sports ground though and apparently has been there since Roman times (I exaggerate of course). Though I'm not sure it was cricket they played then? The sun was shining (for a change) and I enjoyed the game. It was a one sided affair and Middlesex might have achieved just as much if they hadn't turned up but the atmosphere was enjoyable, the ground was full to capacity and I recommend going to one of these things if you get the chance. Oh, take your own drinks as the bar service was awful. I missed 10 of those 6 ball overs just waiting at the bar...

The Weekend

As I write it’s Saturday evening. I’m experiment with being quiet, thinking and deciding what direction to go in lots of ways. If I figure anything out I shall let you know. In the meantime I may open a bottle of wine, or I may not. I will however go for a decent cycle ride through the forest tomorrow and I shall potter in the garden.

I rarely figure much out during these brief excursions into the introspective but I shall persevere nonetheless. If anything happens tomorrow I may well post it here.

Flat

I'm flat at the moment. Lots of things are transpiring and quite frankly I'd rather they weren't.

I'm sure its a blip though. Life after all isn't that bad.

At the risk of being repetitive I'm sure some sunshine would help.

A full and more cheering post tomorrow or Friday I would think.

I had an idea today...

-TG

Orwellian Society

Hmmm. Just watched the news and things aren't right. Then again they haven't been right ever really. What I mean is they are becoming less right.

All over the news today is the fact that a Muslim cleric chap should be kept out for the county because his views insight religious hatred. Well I've read as much as I can and it all seems to come down to the fact that he has said that he understands why the Palestinians have resorted to suicide bombers and whilst he doesn't condone it he doesn't quite condemn it either.

I seem to remember the wife of our Prime Minister, Cherie Blair said something similar last year. No one seems to be having a go at her. This seems to me a case of inciting religious hatred in reverse. Should Mr Blunket and crew be charged with this new crime that he is trying to create?.

Make your own mind up and look at the facts rather than the froth by reading here.

Who's Marbles?

Another news story I saw today concerned the removal from Iraq under cover of the tightest security of tons of nuclear material including 1.7 tons of "enriched uranium". The article reads like the USA have saved us all from terrorists who might have used this if they had got their hands on it to create a so called 'dirty bomb'

The funny thing is that I did a bit of digging whilst I was eating my lunch and discovered that enriched uranium and many of the their radioactive bits and pieces the Americans have hoovered up is really really valuable. In fact its so expensive the Americans can't make as much as they need for their military and other (some good) applications.

So. Who owns it? That's my question. It seems to me that on the one hand the UN could have been given it to look after and should they conclude Iraq doesn't need it anymore they could sell it and give the money to Iraq to help with the problems. Or should it just disappear into the US for free.

Once upon a time there was a boy who liked to play marbles. He was a very bad boy so the teacher stamped on his hands, breaking them and he couldn't play marbles anymore. So the teacher collected all the marbles and instead of giving them to the boys parents so they could help buy bandages. He wandered off and sold them.

I call that theft?

I suppose though in a funny sort of way that given the Americans (in the main) make their tank and other rounds out of depleted uranium because its so dense that it blows through most defending armour, and given that they used thousands of such rounds so poisoning Iraqi land and children for generations to come, they are in fact giving it back with the other hand. I bet they collect it all again much later too. And this time probably sell it back. Thats all right then?

A rant? Or a comment?

I could do this every day. But I won't. Just occasionally I become vexed. I also suppose I'm now on certain hit lists for illustrating something.

I had better do it now. If this carries on our lifetime will see a law against it. Thought police. Orwellian after all?

The weather doesn't help.

Though,, it was nice yesterday and I cycled into work. I will find the flamingo's again. For now you have to make do with the Swans.


What noise do Swans make? 

The Light Bar

Friday night was supposed to be a quiet evening. Civilized even. Well it almost stayed that way. Regular readers will have noticed that excess fuelled evenings have become something of a rarity with me lately. Not last Friday though...

The night began quietly enough with a drink or two at Two Floors with Slinx and a couple of friends and then on to that old haunt The Rex for a viewing of Shrek 2 in their excellent cinema. We enjoyed the film. A few more drinks on the premises and the Rex was getting busy and we were getting lively. At this point going on to the Light Bar was mentioned.

I had not been here before. Though I shall visit again.

The bar is in the reception of The St Martins Lane Hotel. The reception area is all white and straight ahead of the main doors the bar sits enclosed in its own long, wide rectangular room. Once through the doors, past the man that only lets members, stars and hotel guests in you are seated by a very nice lady who finds you a table. The bar itself is a little like a very wide railway carriage but with better lighting, comfortable seating and a lack of windows. In fact it doesn't have any at all. The far end of this long room has a large display cabinet full of cut glass glasses. It reminded me of a Selfridges shelving display. No matter. The whole thing is apparently designed by Phillipe Stark. You don't crowd at the bar as their is only table service.

Wow. What a drinks menu! Its all about cocktails and boy, these cocktails are worth waiting for. Slinx went for a Raspberry Martini which looked about as raspberry as it could be. It tasted divine to. I went for a new twist on an old theme and tried a Mexican Mule.

Tequila
Creme de Cassis
Limes
Ginger Beer
... 3 blueberries on top.

I have just realised (as I write this) that I have all of these ingredients here at home. It is only that I am drinking a nice Torres red wine that is stopping me working out the measurements and attempting a recreation. I will though so expect this to be a cocktail of the month for July.

Where was I? Oh yes. It tasted fantastic. Or at least it did to me. Considering that by this point I had drunk white wine, gin and vodka liberally through the evening it seemed only right to switch spirits.

The crowd in this bar is rich and shows it off. Expect the Beckhams or the Minogues, visiting American film brats and London Bling. Hats teemed with perfect tans and perfect teeth. The music was great and people were up on their feet dancing. The people we were with said it was very quiet that night. It was busy enough for me as the space is wonderful to observe. It is, in my humble opinion the best bar in the very up market category I have been in. You might think that given it has no windows it may feel a little oppressive. But it works just so.

If you wish to go, phone the bar in advance. If you don't sound too ugly and ask nicely you may be placed on the guestlist. Note; I don't say "put" on the guest list. No people "put" you on the list for a taxi queue or a decent new car. Here I feel your name is carefully placed. Neatly.

We had three drinks each. I 'think' I finished up on Mojitos. I 'think' they were the best I have ever had.

Its all a mite blurry after that and it was too much for Slinx, who whilst sometimes showing the determination of the late Oliver Reed, thankfully has a rather smaller and more beautifully formed physique.

We woke up in our clothes.

Saturday was very quiet indeed.

If you only get to go to one expensive bar ever. Go here on a Friday night after midnight. If you can get in of course. 5 Stars.

Tour De France

Some of you may have noticed that the Tour De France has started again. And I would guess, more of you have not.

However, it has.

In the spirit of this, or more probably an early mid life crisis, last week I cycled to work. So what I hear you cry, isn't he in London, doesn't he work in London. How hard can that be? Well its not quite like that as I actually live just North East of London in Essex and work is right slap bang in the middle of the teemimg London Town. It is, in fact 23 miles each way.

It was hard work on the way back I can tell you as its mostly up hill. I travel in along The River Lea Towpath for over 10 miles of the journey. It is beautiful. I saw Swans and Herons and a Kinfisher and Sheep and an Eagle and even Flamingoes around the river. Oh and some passed out drunks neear Tottenham. I am doing it again tommorow. This time though I shall take my camera and prove it. Especially about the Flamingoes...

TG

Life is Good...

Shame about the weather though?

Yes folks, London is warmish but, sadly London is grey. Now I don't mind this in weather, we do after all live in a temperate climate. It would however be nice to have a little less grey in the daytime.

Sunday morning found me and the ever lovely Slinx wandering hither and thither in the lovely Columbia Road flower market. I lived very close to this and the other East end markets for years and I have to attest that they are a great day out. Get up early for a Sunday and head to Liverpool Street Station for about 10AM. Walk through Spitalfields Market and enjoy the atmosphere. Head across the road and cut up down Fournier Street and past Gilbert and George's house then through Brick Lane Market. Enjoy the sights, sounds and people. Hell, even buy some things or eat something. In short just mingle. Then head up to Columbia Road. If you have been following my albeit loose directions you should suddenly find yourself in a 'Garden center gone mad in a street thing'

It wasn't raining on Sunday which helped the walk. Have a cup of coffee or something to eat and buy flowers till you can carry no more. This market, as are all the Sunday markets here is wonderful and part of the fabric of London. All have been established on the same spot for well over a hundred years and they reek of history. Only the costumes have changed. I haven't even mentioned Petticoat Lane market as its not really what it was. But it is in Petticoat Lane and the name alone is reminiscent.

Where was I? Oh yes Columbia Road. Should you happen here you may notice a pub at the one end going east. Its called The Royal Oak and in years past it was machine gunned by the Kray Twins in real life, machine gunned again by the Kemp twins in the film about the Krays and then used (tongue in cheek I think) as "Samoan Joe's" in the film "Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels"

These days it has forgone its time as a rather lifeless market traders boozer and been taken over by strange types.

To be more specific it has become a day center for clubbers who really aren't going to make it home after a Saturday night (or maybe not ever at all..) With great music on the decks (if you like anthem, real music songs) it serves alcohol and humour to a whole selection of miscreants. Think fag ends on the floor, fags at the bar (its quite gay, but not in an intimidating way if you arn't) people dressed in T shirts or all black, dancing and posturing in a very happy way and you are half way there. It's difficult to describe but I like it. The music was great, people were alarmingly friendly as they all seemed to be friends of a friendly herbalist and I completely recommend you visit for a snifter. Just to see.

If you do get sat down some of the best entertainment is had watching ordinary (read; non drugged) market visitors coming in for a quick drink or a pee. The tourists especially..

"Come on, don't be scared, you're perfectly safe....;)

Sadly, they usually run off.

Oh. We liked the little dog on the bar. It doesn't belong to the pub but it seemed very happy.



Its a Westie you know... 

Don't stay to long or you risk joining in....

We moved back through to Spitalfields Market where we shopped and then had some very good Tapas at Meson Los Barriles. Go there and watch the market watch you.

It's all worth it and I'm not issuing any refunds at all.


Do you ever feel like you are being followed?

-T

Chrysolina americana L

It's a new beetle. No not the VW car with the engine in the boot but a new pest. Apparently it eats Rosemary and Lavender. Hence its other name as the Lavender beetle. I know all this because I've looked it up. I've looked it up because I've got em on my Lavender. I shall not poison them because this would harm the bees, and I like bees. I will however keep a close eye on the little buggers and see how much damage they cause. If it gets bad then there will be a soapy water of death moment in my quiet hamlet.

They are beautiful to look at, like shiny metallic VW cars with purple stripes on their silver reflective backs. You woudn't think you would see mirrored surfaces on creatures would you? Terminator beetles even. Have a look..


See? 

In other news I have done the sum total of nothing today. A random day off in the week (although pre-arranged) is one of the great inventions of our time. I got up late, lazed about. Had a pleasant pub lunch with my good mate The Duke and slept on the lawn into the afternoon. In short I frittered away my time in the fashion of a carefree immortal. Which of course I am not.

I truly recommend it. Back to work tomorrow...

Not Dead Yet

Just in case you think I have retired you should be aware that life a pace continues on all levels. The beautiful Slinx is delightful as ever and London's night haunts are still frequented. In fact only this Saturday past saw another Wapping mad house party. Slightly smaller than previous efforts there was only 60 people or so. As usual though it was gone 6 AM when bed was reached..

I'm off to the cinema tomorrow. What shall I go and see?

thegardener@gmail.com

Pants

Well to be more specific for the moment, Trousers. Men's trousers to be exact. I am bringing the full weight of my focus onto the thorny subject of, yes, men's legs, and what to wrap them inside. We might get to pants later, we shall see.

First a mental experiment. Try and envisage men's legs through their trousers. I don't know, just think of the last time you were in the proximity of a crowd of ordinary men. That's it. Hold that picture. It may be the tube this morning, or the bus, or the street. If you are very unusual you may be a camera man in the house of commons. Or even odder, the presenter at a photocopy sales conference. I don't know? It's up to you, this is after all your visualisation. If you are girl or bat for the other side on occasion you are not allowed to cheat and think of good legs, like those on a rugby team, or indeed a football team. Unless you are Rebecca Loos. If you are that Rebecca and you are reading this then you are allowed special dispensation because the legs you often see aren't the ordinary type of random white nobbly hairy stick or lumpy things I am imagining that most of you thought of on first thunk.

And MEP, think of accountants, not Military Fitness. That's cheating.

Right. Are we all there now? For most of us its not a pleasant thought is it? If it is then you might wish to refer back to the above and read again. Or you are odd.

Anyway, I don't have time to address the minority as this is a democracy. I have the pen, so I win.

The problem is this, at least from a male perspective. We have to cover them up in some way mostly, often when we go to work. Which trousers are really suitable?

I, for the most part lately have been wearing jeans. Yes I know we can't all wear jeans to work every day and quite frankly I'd rather not all the time but what are the alternatives? I have been looking around and there only really seem to be two options for the relatively non media office that's not in the city and therefore does not warrant a suit.

Option one: Black trousers that all seem to have the same characteristics, namely the consistency of an onion bag, with patchy shine after 3 wears and a high nylon content to attract cat hairs and fag ash in equal measures.

Option two: Faux, smart combats that I'm sure only work if you work somewhere where you think its cool to have a stupid haircut and you do web design.

So dear readers. Help me with this one. What is man to wear as an alternative to jeans? In the summer so he looks smart (but not too smart) and doesn't suffer either 'rucking in the arse / crotch area or enough static to drag children from across the street(now there's an unseemly thought...). And I don't want to model the 'post room' boy staypress creases either!

Your advice stencilled in red on the GPO box outside 11-14 Southampton Place WC1A please. Or your money back...

I may comment on pants later. We don't like to throw them away do we?

In the Spirit of Things

I thought I'd try again. After all, if you don't try what's the point? To soften you up first is a picture I took on Sunday. Its hardly exciting, but then again its Garlic from my garden, picked by me late on Sunday afternoon.


Garlic Indeed 

There, that's us all grounded then.

I took a risk on the tube tonight. Obviously I'd had a couple of pints. Unusually I found myself in a scene reminiscent of a Spike Lee film. Onto my carriage walked a crowd of eight guys, all young but aspiring to be in the hood. I have never seen so many Nike clothes outside a Darren Chambers benefit sale. The fact that they all were wearing 'left ear' gold with diamond cluster earrings marked them out as boys in a fraternity. They entertained themselves by trying to smile, jab the peaks of their baseball caps into the faces of fellow passengers and invading everyone's personal space. As there were seats either side and opposite me, some of them sat down, all legs and bling chains akimbo. I was surrounded.

The atmosphere was tense as the mostly knackered office types around smelt the testosterone and tried to hide. The boys sensed it and went into show off mode.

Much slapping of hands and cuffs round the head were exchanged, and much talk of "linkin" in the morning.

At this point the guy next to me decided to make a point. He took a picture of me on his Nokia and gleefully showed it around. I noticed the four fingered gold knuckle duster, they laughed at the shot. Much fun was being had. People were cowering.

He thought he had the upper hand so he shouted out "Look, I make this guy a movie star". His gold teeth flashed. He filmed me for a few seconds with the phone then raucously laughed.

Never one to do anything sensible I took my own phone from my pocket, and surrounded by a sea of muscles and sports wear, hit the video switch and held my phone inches from brave boys face.

His teeth flashed again, this time with bravado I thought he blushed. The carriage went very, very quiet indeed. Sharp inward breaths were quietly drawn. I stopped, hit the play button, showed him the video and laughed at him whilst smiling...

There was a pause..

He looked me in the eye.

His mates looked at me

I looked at them

They cracked up and the boy next to me was toast, out fronted by his target. They took him down in a sea of piss-takes.

I may have been being very stupid I don't know, but it said to me that however people try to be, a group of blokes is a group of blokes whatever. A useful lesson there I think.

It may have been dangerous? But I always advise not acting the victim. Unless you really are of course, in which case its already to late. Not that I'm casting aspersions on the lads with the gold chains, teeth and probably even prosthetic limbs on the ride but they were a bit scary to those not in their group.

As someone once said. In the land of the witless, the half wit is king.

Summer is Nice

Enough said, Its lovely.

Oh, I shall be having a garden party next month. It should be good.

Arrgghh

I spent an hour writing for you tonight, only to have some computer gremlin fuck it all up at the last minute...

*sob*

I'm off to bed. It will have to wait untill tommorow.

It was good too. I'm most vexed.

Hum a happy tune....

Here we are Again

The early summer is a funny thing. Here you are thinking its great because the nights are so long. Bizarrely though, there still doesn't seem enough time. What with social life (more later) garden life (hours of it) work life (ever present and life (the time you need to sort out bills, washing machines, hair, clothes, crap etc)

It all, as usual seems to go to fast.

In short we have a time deficit.

This makes me think I should hurry up as you don't have that much time to read this nonsense.

Due to the fact that my digital camera caddy thing was left in France and is winging it way toward me by paper post I can't give you a new picture tonight, so you will have to wait. Instead I shall regale you with my Birthday drinks night out.. Or perhaps at least part of it.

The Anchor (Bankside)

The Anchor is a fine, very old, if large pub. I picked it for a few drinks as its on the river and I expected a nice, hot day. I didn't pick it because I expected a robbery but then again fate is a funny old thing.

There was me at the table drinking and laughing, there was Slinx, The Duke, James with others just arising. Also, unseen till it was too late to notice were fagins children who with aplomb stole my mobile phone from under my nose whilst pretending to beg as a diversion. Crafty little things they were and I really don't want to think what they will grow up into. Evil little bastards I expect, but then, I always was the romantic.

Ah well the large Glenmorangie that the manager gave me by way of a cheer up, washed down with pint I had to start with, followed by the champagne that Tommy and Ivano and crew (who arrived just after) supplied seemed to do the trick, or at least knock this trick sideways a bit.

Slightly hazy after that though I believe the Monglian barbecue provided foodstuffs and the Pheonix Artist Club on Charing Cross Road swept up the bits.

With regard to the Mongolian barbecue, I'm intrigued as to how it originated? I didn't think Mongolia in central Asia being landlocked had much of a reputation for fish, but their cod was very good. Perhaps I was just drunk but our self created meals which are then cooked for you seemed to get harder and harder to eat. I blame shaking hands in the spice bucket. Though the Duke ate the lot! I still owe him a fiver...

On Sunday I didn't feel quite as busy as I would have liked to be.

I haven't had much time to write this tonight. Oh, you could tell? I shall attempt to get back up to full blogging speed shortly, but not tomorrow as I'm off to see Jack Dee.

And god knows what's happened to the Cocktail of the month. Perhaps you should recommend one?

thegardener@gmail.com

Hurrah for Blogger :)

Now you are really in trouble. Pictures a go go.

Prepare for the worst. i have a camera and a warped attitude.

I'm smiling again. Oh you can add comments to.. not that you will. There's only one writer round here and thats, errm, errm, someone, somewhere?

Gravy on the peas please.


Fat Crabs. You see some funny things on the way to the pub... 

Update Warning

I've been away for a while. Much has happened.. I even went to France.. I know, its not very far.

There will be a new improved blog soon.

The music is dancing and I shall return...

I know, I know.. I'm not that strange, just bear with me.

Soon.

-TG

thegardener@gmail.com

The Return of the Party

Well folks it happened again. The Duke and the Wapping mad house threw the end of the world of party's.

Saturday night saw near enough 250 people including the beautiful Slinx and I having a wild old time. Five great DJ's, kept the place moving until the early hours. We think we left at near enough 9AM on Sunday and boy did we need a sleep.

Highlights of the evening included...

..The guy that fell out of the balcony floor above, 15 feet down onto the floor below (luckily narrowly missing other party goers) who immediately sprang back up shouting "I'm fine, nothing to see here".

I bet he hurts today!

...The 7 foot tall rubber clad dominatrix in towering platform shoes that kept asking a certain girl if she'd like to 'do something unrepeatedly rude'

Anyone who did sterling volunteer work on the bar.

The Italian Mafia for spontaneously cooking pasta for a 100 people or more.

The Duke (Andy), Tommi, Ivano and Richard for throwing possibly the best party in London, ever.

We found this chap and friends in the morning.

If anyone knows who he is, please let me know..

thegardener1969@msn.com

Being Remiss

I've been quite remiss at blog entries lately. What does this mean? Does it mean that

a) I have a life?

b) I'm lazy

or

c) Someone has kidnapped the real Gardener and I am just a mere secret service fill in?

Answers stapled to a small leopard and delivered by parachute please.

Right I'm off to grade my t-shirt collection into amusing categories. After all Summer is coming and oh god what a difference the sunshine makes. I swear I even saw the bag man try to smile the other day. It hurt to watch.

Gravy

thegardener1969@msn.com

Gis A Job

A funny thing happend the other lunchtime. There I was minding my own business having a quet lunchtime pint in a pub (I forget the name) in Covent Garden and who should pull up right out side the window that I was facing, driving a black cab and pick up a fare but none other than Nicholas Cage. Yes the actor.

Very strange I thought. I assure you dear reader that it was him, or at least his long lost twin. The cab was interesting in that it was an old hackney cariage but with immaculate paint and seemingly extra chrome fittings. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and smiled that smile he does when hes looking slightly mad at the girl he picked up.

I was the only person that noticed and put it down to my imagination, but...

... on Thursday morning I was driving to work and as I stopped at some traffic lights near Holborn a man got out of a white van to deliver (or collect?) something. Dressed in a black jumper and jeans, stomach straining and hair like a mop, it was, Dan Ackroyd.

Somethings going on and if you don't believe me start looking around. Rich actors are moonlighting in London town to earn extra cash. I don't know why. Do you?

I will write more soon, I should have some time. Its been very busy lately.

Mail me when you spot another celeb.

thegardener1969@msn.com

Flora and Fauna

A short blog today. Whilst sitting in the kitchen looking at the garden a Pheasant flew in and wandered about. I was tempted.

Yesterday at almost exactly the same time I was sat in the same spot and a Mallard Duck flew in and crashed noisily into the pond.

Where will all end? They are getting larger by the day. I'm hoping to get a Giant Penguin tommorow. I might not be so lucky though. The fact that they can't actually fly might be a hindrance. I shall however keep an eye out.

thegardener1969@msn.com

Dead But Only Resting

In the last seven days I haven't half been busy. I'm thinking of hiring a ghost writer to write this Blog but I figured that they may end up being a better writer than me and I can't have that, so I will soldier on.

Looking For a New Job

Keen eyed readers may remember that I lamented Alistair Cooke's retirement a few weeks ago so ending the longest running broadcast show in history "Letter From America". Sadly it looks like he's rested his typing fingers for the very last time. He was 95. One thing that is a touch ironic is that he was really miffed a few weeks ago because some laggard in the BBC had leaked news of his retirement the day before he had decided that he would broadcast it to a shocked world. I bet he would have laughed if news of his death had been leaked before it happened. He would probably have stayed up...

I was surprised he hadn't made a rushed cameo in

Shaun of the Dead

Another visit to the Rex last week saw us seeing another film pre-release. This, romzomcom, 'Romantic Zombie Comedy' was a good laugh and had its moments of pathos to. The 'girl in the garden' scene is a classic and it has its laugh out loud moments throughout. Sadly there are couple of flat bits and I'm not sure how well it will export or really do at the flicks. It will, however though grace many a DVD collection though and I can think of few films better to press the play buttun to if you have some mates round after the pub. Go and enjoy, but leave your brain behind. Lest someone lurch slowly toward you and eat it. Go on, you know you want it.

Kettners

In other news I've been cooking roast dinners, sharing great company, gardening and generally doing what I usually do . Last Friday saw me catch up for a rare meeting with the Walton. It was an evening meet that took in a number of venues including a quick stop at Kettners. This establishment has been serving champagne to the loaded and desperate for attention crowd for what seems like for ever. I managed (only just) to not take the piss out of Ainsley Harriot for being so short, and who was the ageing rocker with the mane of grey hair down to his jeans who visited the gents to powder his nose four time in the 30 minutes or so that we were there? Or perhaps he has prostrate trouble? Go anyway if you've not been before. The gents toilets have an excellent no-cost shoe shine machine. Its under the plant pot, you will see it.

Later that night at 12.17 precisley, I foolishly missed my last Tube home. Normally if i'm on a mad one I don't care, but this time I did as its an awful long way for me in a cab. Its the one thing that I really think holds this city back from really exploding with fun. The Tube should run, at least at weekends till 3 or 4. C'mon people, lobby Ken the plastic Mayor!.

Cocktails

I know!. Its the 5th already. I'm having a dilemma as to what you should drink. I'm still thinking so I'll take a tip from Mrs Mills and just for the moment, recommend a glass of sweet sherry. That will stand you out from the crowd and possibly start a new trend.

Party!

There is a party soon. A big one. Possibly the biggest one ever. If you want an invite then email me and we shall see. It promises to be very good indeed.

thegardener1969@msn.com