Where are you from?

I'm From Barcelona were doing a mini tour of the UK last week, in as much as they were performing two dates. One of them was on wednesday night in London, so Terese and I decided to go. And it was in a small venue with capacity of only 800 people, so we knew it would be a good atmosphere. But it far exceeded our expectations. They had 2 support acts- the first was a fat person in red skinny jeans, and the second was a band called Irene. But I'm From Barcelona really got the atmosphere going by lauching balloons and bubbles into the air.

 

I'm From Barcelona are not from Barcelona. They are from Sweden, which is very unlike Barcelona. And their songs are not very Spanish-sounding. Listen here!

 

Being Swedish, the band have an inate sense of style. However, to some it may appear that they simply borrowed their parents' old clothes. Whichever, it added to their charm. They also decided to include as many people as possible in the band. Terese counted 17 band members on stage at one point. But I can't remember if she counted while the lead singer was stage-diving during an excellent song about stamp-collecting.

 
The band clearly decided everyone should be their friend and invited a mass storming of the stage at the end. To the right of the picture is a Swedish student who spent most of the concert pushing Terese, myself and anyone else around her whilst trying to hit the balloon that were still being batted around the air. Bless her. And after the concert, the band wandered around the bar and talked to everyone.

So friendly.

Winter wonderland...

For a few hours last week London became a Winter Wonderland. Snow fell across the country, even in London, giving us a brief reminder of what winter weather should be like.

 
The view from my window on wednesday morning was in no way pretty when compared to the scene outside my window in Katsuyama, but it was still nice to see the snow...

 
And once again we ask ourselves, "Is there any evidence for global warming?". Spring flowers in the snow in January.

 
Pretty Christmas tree. In the snow. In late January. I must change my delivery service...

 
I'm not too sure how to freeze dry rosehips, but I think this is wrong.

 
Roses for the lady? Well, don't get them here, they're going rotten on the tree. Still, they are blooming outside of a greenhouse. In January. D'oh.

 
A stroll in the park reveals more roses in the snow. I know a song about roses in the snow. It's sung by disco trollops Baccara. It is neither about being a lady or being able to boogie. Instead, it is crap.

Bye bye now!

Well, she finally left us. Dr Miss Vickers left for Japan on Saturday and we were there to see here off.

Terese and I started the day by going for a walk around north London, taking in a very muddy abandoned railway that leads from Finsbury Park to Highgate. The walk was lovely, lots of greenery and nice views. And the two of us looked like we'd been mud wrestling by the time we finished. Unfortunately we didn't realise this until after we'd traipsed around the very posh Highgate village looking like rogue farmers who'd overdosed on laughing gas. We wandered down to Kentish town, stopping for a drink along the way and finally made our way to Heathrow where we were to meet Cathy to say goodbye.

And then it went a bit pearshaped. I managed to tell Cathy her airline wasn't based at the terminal (it was) and managed to tell her her flight wasn't on the schedule. It was. But it was all OK in the end, and after Cathy's brother and his girlfriend went home, we all went for a quick drink to say goodbye and then in scenes reminiscent of the World Wars, we waved her through to the departure gates waving white hankies in the air. Sayonara Miss Vickers!

 
Views of London from Highgate Village. Lovely.

Cold wars.

Being ill is boring. I've had a bad cold for the best part of a week and it's really, really boring. In between sleeping and not managing to concentrate on anything I've let the rigours of daytime telly wash over me. Challenging for all the wrong reasons. Cable TV really doesn't offer the entertainment value it should.

Still, last Tuesday was fun. Our last evening with Cathy was also my last afternoon with Cathy as we wandered around Covent Garden, the Strand and finally the South Bank where we pestered staff at the Globe Theatre and raced around the slides at the Tate Gallery like children with ADHD. Our evening of sophistication went a bit pear shaped. Ues, the pub we met Jo and Terese in was very nice, but the restaurant in which we ate dinner was not so. We planned on tapas. We went to a tapas restaurant and we didn't like the menu. So we went for a kebab instead. I'm not one for this kind of junk food so I was at a bit of a loss with how to eat it, but Kebab Expert Mandy gave me the necessary training. Bye bye Cathy! Again.

 

Ms Vickers remembers lost love by the Thames. Or perhaps it was lost earings. D'oh. I can't remember...

What's going on?

I am sat here watching my first Harry Potter film, not really paying attention and thus not having a clue what's happening. So far, some woman grew really fat and drifted away, London Transport gave a demonstration of a typical bus ride through rush hour London and those black horses and their riders from the Lord of the Rings scared young Harriette and his/ her chums. I am unconvinced so far, particular as they keep mentioning Azerbaijan and Harriette increasingly looks like Maureen Lipman (below).















I suspect the twist at the end might be that Maureen Lipman is actually Hariette, and whilst on a peace keeping mission to Azerbaijan, her wand gets stolen and she saves the day by using traditional Jewish humour to span the gulf between the cultures.

I think what actually does happen will be a disappointment to me now...

Hey Mr DJ, put a record on

I wanna dance with my- oh hang on. I'm the DJ...

While on the 6th of January numerous Greeks and Russians were celebrating Christmas, I was celebrating my birthday. Now for me, birthdays are always a bit of a shambles. Not bad, just a bit haphazard. I never really do much and Ma always wants to go for lunch or dinner come hell or highwater. My 21st was particularly memorable, not only because we went to dine at one of the UK's least vegetarian friendly restaurant chains, but also because I was rather ill with flu and almost passed out over the salad cart. I spent the rest of the meal slumped over our table. Last year was my 30th and was rather more successful, except for the fact that I had a three course meal for lunch with the family and then a huge dinner with friends and then indigestion for a week. So this year I was quite relieved when Megan told me her 30th birthday bash would be held on the night of my birthday.

And then she asked me to DJ.

I've never DJed before. I've organised music for parties, but have never actually used a mixer be it a CD or a record mixer. So I was rather nervous. And this will explain why I got it wrong.

I prepared a couple of hours worth of music, not thinking I'd use it all, and arrived at the venue with Megan so Matt could show me how to use the equipment. And then I got confused. And instead of starting at 9:30, I started at 8:15. And DJed for over 2 hours. I did worry I would have to stop when Cathy decided to start pressing buttons and sliding sliders on the machinery, but after a quick bit of shouting and some stern looks from Matt she was suitably chastised and left the DJ area. I don't want to DJ again though, because while I got to play lots of my favourite songs I didn't get to dance to them. Boo! And no-one else appreciates Betty Boo quite like I do.

The party itself was great. Other Megan came back from France, Cathy, Mandy, Kofi, Terese and a host of others were there, and fortunately Cathy and Mandy were well equipped with make-up to help allcomers achieve the required Moustache and/ or Lipstick look. Unfortunately for Cathy, her eyeliner pencil was Clinique, so every moustache she drew on cost her at least five pounds. Mine was worth £20 alone I suspect...

 
While I, South American pimp extraordinaire, look on and survey my kingdom (the bar), I clutch my support (Terese) and my young male latin lover (Mandy). Oh how a few eyeliner moustaches can make a difference. If only my lipstick was a deeper shade of red...

Starting as you mean to go on...

It is always good to start the new year as you mean to go on, but I think I may have set myself on course for liver failure by the end of the month.

In a positive note the young gentlemen have started to pay attention. It might be my burgeoning breasticles- time for a trainer bra soon if the winter excess doesn't disperse soon. And in another good sign, the social life has been more than effective, although that candle may well be burned at both ends. On only the second of January I met up with a gentleman and went on an all night binge-drinking session which culminated in my being stopped by a Policeman at 4:30 in the morning while staggering to the train station and trying to answer a text message.

"Are you OK? Where are you going?" he enquired.
"I'm fine thank you. I'm heading to Liverpool Street station", I slurred in reply.
"Where have you been tonight?"
"Just to a couple of bars and a club with a friend for some drinks".
"So you've had a few"
"Yes" (this was clearly the most stupid question in the world- I'd either had too many drinks or a serious head injury)
"Have you taken anything else?" he asked, seemingly unconvinced as I propped myself against the wall.
"GOOD LORD, I WOULD NEVER DO SUCH A THING!" I shrieked, clearly with conviction as he apologised and let me off on my merry way. I arrived home at 6am, dreading Eugene's leaving do which was happening that evening. I couldn't possibly drink again.

So I didn't and managed to stay enough to enjoy and participate in the Ryan's seasonal singalong party.

Yesterday Cathy came to London to spend a week in preparation for her up-and-coming move to Okinawa, so we went and met her from the train, and headed straight to the pub. A couple of drinks later and we were wondering what to do next and one option arose- karaoke! So, for the first time since I came back to the UK I ended up in a karaoke salon. And while it was possibly the most ghetto karaoke salon I have ever been in, it was karaoke. And it felt good. Not as expensive as I'd expected and with more songs than I'd expected. I shall return.

 
Mandy strains while Cathy and Chris pray for deafness to befall them.

So what are my plans for 2006?
1. Karaoke,
2. Nights out with gentlemen,
3. Giving hysterical responses should anyone else suggest I've taken drugs.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

2006 ended with the nation being lashed by winds of up to 80 miles an hour and rain, but despite all this it was still strangely warm. And busy.

I started New Year's Eve in Camden, meeting Kofi, Megan and Dhanusha for one last time before Dhanusha headed back to the US. Clearly the pressure of New Year's was affecting the bar staff as they spent 20 minutes scrabbling around on the floor looking for the keys to the till and kept requesting that we told them when we were leaving so that they could take away our table even though they were hovering constantly. So we left to enjoy our separate New Year's celebrations.

Mine was spent with Terese, lots of crazy Swedes, some lesbians and a mad publishing lady who told off anyone who said they'd recently bought a book because she could get it for them for nothing. In any language, apparently.

We drank, we saw in the new year, we hugged and kissed and we drank a bit more. And then I went home.

Have a lovely, happy 2007!