8 September 2008

Gin in teacups, And leaves on the lawn...Violence at bus stops, And the pale thin girl with eyes forlorn...

Ok, it seems my banana analogy was a little too thinly-veiled for some of you slack-jawed double-Y chromies to interpret. The thing I was talking about losing and then getting back again was love. The delicious banana I found is called Salette and she's not really a banana...she's a pretty bloody super girly. Got it? Do I need to draw you a picture?

Our Lady of Salette is originally from San Francisco (yes, another American...but I've kinda got a taste for them now) who's been living over here for 10 years. She's amazing: cute, pretty, smart, tall, blonde, quirky, captivating, and a bitching pasher. She's got a bit of that Elaine Benice thing going on which totally melts my butter. Also, she's older than me but don't make the mistake of calling her a Cougar...it's not a compliment, apparently. She works for an arts council who fund art projects and promote and support all forms of contemporary art. She's wikkid passionate about her work and knows heaps of cutting edge arty farties. The other night we did a tour of some East End (which is the new West End) galleries on Vyner Street which all held an open night so it was quite a mixed bag. The ratio between the cost of the booze and the calibre of the art is inversely proportionate: the richest galleries gave it away free but the art was garbage (in some cases literally). Most of it was pretty lame post-modern stuff but at one gallery there was this kiwi dude who painted awesome character portraits on old fridge doors and car bonnets and oil cans. I really loved his stuff, it typified that lowbrow asthetic that totally rocks my boat. Pity the cheapest piece was £1800; I don't know art, but I know what I can't afford. All these galleries are right on my doorstep, scattered throughout the lanes and alleys off Mare Street in between these amazing grotty bars and cafes and performance spaces, and I had no idea they were there. A whole new world is opening up to me and I'm really loving the East End, all thanks to this willowy blonde amazon who came out of nowhere and spiked my heart's drink with her Rohypnol of lurve. Get this: last Friday night she took me to see Batman at the IMAX...can you spell 'Dream Girl'?

On the weekend we met at the Hackney flower market which I've never been to (my deflowering, as it were) and is only open on Sundays. It's kind of like going to the fruit markets except there's twice as many spruikers and they're all screaming at you to "check out me gladies...best gladies in London...ON-ly a fi-VER!" (for some reason everything costs a fiver). Thankfully it was overcast so there weren't as many people as there normally would be. We wandered about there for a while, soaking up the atmos and making fun of the locals, before succumbing to our growling stomachs and venturing over to this cafe/bar called Bistrotheque for brunch (the same place we went to for the hideous cabaret night on our third date...brunch was date number eight). The place comes pretty highly recommended and I have to admit it more than lived up to the hype. They blitzed the eggs benedict litmus test (eggs runny in the middle, ham lightly grilled, home-made hollandaise, sprinkling of chives) and may even have toppled The Yellow House for the brunch crown. They have a grand piano which this hip young dude plays lovely classical arrangements of contemporary songs, adding a really classy edge to the gustation. Half of the fun is trying to guess what you're hearing first, and then recoiling in shame when you realise it's "If Ya Think I'm Sexy" by Rod Stewart. Salette mentioned she really likes "Love Will Tear Us Apart" so when she went to the loo I asked the guy if he would play it when she came out, and he totally did...the timing was perfect! But then she wouldn't believe me when I told her I requested it. Jerk! Who said romance wasn't dead?

We spent the rest of the day wandering around Brick Lane (which is fast-becoming my favourite part of London) and Victoria Park walking off our breakfast, talking, holding hands, letting the time get away from us and watching the world slip by. Before I knew it, it was 6pm and I had less than an hour to get to Victoria for Dr Phil's surprise PhD dinner. Even though he'd finished his thesis, he's not officially a doctor until the examiner signs off on it. So today was the sign off day and on Sunday night Clara arranged for a bunch of us to meet at a Thai restaurant and surprise him. I only just made it as I had spent 20 minutes walking around the block trying to find the place only to realise that I'd been standing right in front of it about 4 times. But everything worked out fine in the end. I had a cocktail called Lava Under the Sea and ordered the red bbq duck curry and it came served in half a pineapple which was even more awesome than it sounds.

I've got a huge couple of months coming up culture wise: The Unholy Alliance (Slayer, Trivium and Mastodon), Regurgitator, Motorhead, Russian Circles, Dylan Moran. I'm really torn about seeing Slipknot cos they're kinda gay but Machine Head is supporting so METAL DILEMMA! And now I have a pretty bloody super girly to take along...although I'm not sure she's a Slayer kind of gal. Might have to be hanging on like a solo for that one.

I had a job interview with a specialist usability firm the other day, which went well. They've asked me back for a follow up on Tuesday. I'm not sure they can afford me but it feels good to be disloyal to the Company. Bunch of heartless soulless feckers. It's not ALL about the money, you know.

No comments: