Plus ca change...

So tonight I found myself back at the Lav, an institution of old that used to be a much bigger feature of my life when I lived above it. Once I'd got over hyperventilating about the fact that *someone else lives in my old flat*, shock horror, I gave in to the rather comforting sense of being somewhere so familiar that the bar staff greeted me like an old friend (perhaps I did rely on them a little too much for limes and olives then) and where they 'forgot' to add things like a steak to our bill. Lovely.

We had the additional pleasure of being joined by a real life minister from HMG, which was fun, esp when the discussion turned to exactly who is the current minister for railways. Mr Minister got it as wrong as AQA, but at least he didn't charge a pound for the pleasure of giving us such misinformation.

On top of all this fun I have been asked to be a godmother tonight. I am even more convinced than ever by this request that I will die a mad woman who knits too much and mutters to herself. However my first task is to persuade the delightful parents-to-be to change their choice of name, so that I don't find myself dealing with a bullied child in 12 years' time.

Blogs wot I should have wrote

Blimey. What a couple of months. Less said about them the better. So rather than dwell on the utter misery of being overworked, homeless, and frankly a little directionless job-wise, here's quick round up of the good moments that kept me from a nervous breakdown...

I've got good at going to the cinema (warm, dark, not dusty, easy distraction by way of a big screen etc). Clearly I've been in the market for soppy films, loving both Juno (booed my eyes out, but it's ok cos no one was looking) and Be Kind Rewind. On the latter, I think I may be in love with Mos Def, and of course Michel Gondry, whose brilliance gave us this film AND Eternal Sunshine. Beautiful.

Cultural activities have suffered somewhat, although I've got good at finding cheap places to eat out. Top of that list is my lovely local Bonnington Cafe. Each night a different member of the community cooks (a mere tenner for 3 huge courses); it's BYO and no corkage; they have a pianist that could give Ciao Bella's a run for their money; last time I went, they were packed but still gave us a seat in the upstairs kitchen, bless them. We ate our food watching the tango class leaving the community hall nearby. Honestly, it's enough to make you want to wear sandals and buy a goat.

I also had the pleasure of experiencing Time Out's favourite cheap-end Chinese restaurant, Dragon's Castle, with S&A&R. It tasted good (so did the huge amounts of beer we got through) and gave us the courage we needed to then head to the hardcore Spanish drinking den - can't remember the name so no link - actually in the pink monstrosity otherwise known as the shopping centre. Here, you can get 5 litre bottles of beer (see a theme to our evening?) which we resisted in favour of gawping at the semi-pornographic content of a random music channel being screened.

Pubs have also featured - two in particular that I like despite slightly snippy reviews from others, including the Duke of Cambridge, a beautiful organic pub in Islington (biggest downside) that sells great English wine and has fit bar men. I spent election night 2005 warming up there before the BBC party (dahling) but haven't been since... will be back there for food, and soon. The other pub is a little closer to home, the Mason's Arms in Battersea, where I tried to go before for an ultimately disastrous 27th birthday. My usual jinx applied and the oven was broken. In the event, all my friends fell out anyway, the man of the time couldn't come because he had an infected tongue (no joke) and all round I vowed never again to have a cosy dinner for my birthday...

The next few months are going to be much more fun. I know it. Just v glad to be out the other side of these last few...

Temporary intermission

Dammit, I've broken all my rules and failed to post here for ages. Blame the builders, blame the work, blame LCS calling... but put it this way: I'm currently sitting in the office, surrounded by bags containing essentials of laptop, 3 different kinds of charger, knickers, eyeliner, assorted papers and (randomly) some brandy glasses.


This is someone lacking a home at the moment... It's made me realise that about-town-ness is predicated on having a base to come back to, a frontline to retreat from, somewhere to rest a weary head without it getting covered in dust and paint fumes...

So. In the meantime. I'm off on an adventure tonight, heading to Nunhead (emphasis on the second syllable please) in my quest for a bed. I'm going to go via the Rye Hotel where I've decided to have a large solo drink whilst waiting for M to return and chaperone me through the wild streets of south east London.

Normal transmission back soon. In the meantime expect sporadic rants from bag lady here.

NB - the picture is more or less unrelated, other than making me laugh out loud after it popped up when searching for 'builders' in google images...

Vox in Observer Food Monthly shocker

Blimey. Jay Rayner has got off his ass and come down to Vox to review Hot Stuff on Wilcox Road (thanks, I). Now, given it's in Vauxhall, you'd be forgiven for deducing from its name that this venue is the latest fisting club or something similar but less salubrious. In fact, it's a pretty cool sounding curry house. I think the fact that the Observer have been down here is a good thing, if only because it's reminded me that I've wanted to go there for a long time. BYO, no corkage, and the inevitable formica tables. As if that weren't enough, it's got fairy lights and plastic peppers too. Perhaps one to combine with my newly christened local, the Vauxhall Griffin.

Friday night a-gender

Tonight I had a narrow (sorry G) escape from a work-related medieval banquet - instead I've had a lovely evening thinking about sexual politics in a whole range of settings....

First off, the minging (hello, am I 18??) Ha Ha bar on Villiers Street where I found myself testing and proving my current theory about the increasingly gendered nature of book covers. As a girl, I am apparently supposed to be drawn to silly lettering, pinks, abstacts, words like 'love' in the title; the depressing fact is that try as I might, those publishers are right - I'm just not interested in those boy covers featuring embossed words, hints of adventures, greys and reds...

Anyway. Second setting. We wound up in one of my preferred London streets, at one of my preferred chains - Bertorelli on Charlotte Street, where I had a super evening with A, full of prosecco and retail chat. He amused me by combining the ultimate girl pizza (fiorentina) with boy ingredients (jalapeno peppers and pepperoni). It reminded me of when I worked at Pizza Express and a particularly loved up couple asked me to guess their order, and nearly fell off their chairs when I got it exactly right. What they didn't know is that *every* new couple who came in wanted a fiorentina (well done egg) and american hot. Comfortingly predictable. But worth the generous tip.

And finally - the rather lewd fag + vodka chat that finished off our evening outside the Fitzroy Tavern. I'd last been there with H, where we'd had a huge argument about what constitutes a true feminist. We ditched any arguments about principles tonight though, instead zoning in on sex, and laughing ourselves silly about how men and women react so differently to coming. Definitely teenage; but despite the whole notquitethirty thing, helpfully illuminating at the same time... for us as well as for the other people around us, I suspect...

Steaks, mmm

It's a strange fact of my life that everyone always thinks I'm vegetarian. It's a mystery to me, but I'm pleased to declare that I am really rather fond of proper meat these days (although Macdonald's can still go to hell). So sometimes a girl's got to eat steak. Generally speaking, I do it with a glass of red wine in front of a good film on a Sunday night. But I think I may have found a place where I'd like to depart from this ritual. The Bountiful Cow in Holborn is a rare find: a really lovely, warm pub, serving various forms of MEAT (as in proper, hardcore meat - i mean they even had rillettes on the menu), decent sized tables, space. I like. I like a lot.

I haven't yet sampled their food, as I've only been for a drink there (and a strangely comforting and honest conversation with S), but I fully intend to return when it's time for my red meat hit.

Other places that I'd like to eat meat include St John (still not been, in truth I'm a little intimidated), and the Cheyne Walk brasserie, which is possibly one of the prettiest restaurants I've ever been to, and a great line in cooking your steak or whatever on the grill in the restaurant. It's been too long since I ate duck at Mon Plaisir; and one of these days I want to get to Roast in Borough Market.

I heart the South Bank

God, I don't think there's been more than 48 hours in the last three weeks where I haven't at some point found myself on the South Bank. What a great place. I love the fact that you don't need to buy anything to enjoy the space. I love the open-ness of the RFH. I love the glass and stone of it all. I love the water installations. You get the picture: I'm quite a fan. Anyway I was there again today and had 15 minutes to kill as I awaited a first date (not the best start to a beautiful relationship) and found yet more cool stuff. If only I could marry the South Bank and be done with these silly boys.

Take for example Late Lounge at the Terrace Cafe of the National Theatre, 10pm-1am on Fridays and Saturdays during summer - the unique 'Bring and Share' DIY disco. Or St Etienne's Turntable Cafe nights held monthly(ish). Or Benugo at the BFI. Super super, the lot of them.

The Narrow

Gordon Ramsay's gastropub in Limehouse. My, I want to go - I love that bit of town and this review from Time Out sounds good (although they can't spell his name right): "The first of Gordon Ramsey’s gastropub outposts is proving a roaring success with critics and punters alike. Housed in a Grade II listed building, it features a ground floor bar with outside tables for drinkers and picturesque river views. You might have to wait weeks and weeks for a table in the dining room but there’s a tasty selection of bar snacks for the impatient among us. Feast on a half-pint of Atlantic prawns, potted Cromer crab with granary toast, traditional Ploughman's lunch or cheese on toast (a snip at just £2.50), then wash it all down with their great selection of bottled beers or a glass from the sophisticated wine list. Sheer summer bliss."
44 Narrow St, E14 8DQ (020 7265 8931) Limehouse DLR.

Sun and Doves

The only reason in the whole world to seek out Loughborough Road. But a really good reason. Mark Dodds who owns this place is absolutely great. I think I used to fancy him actually. Whatever, he's got a cool pub and the story behind it is one of him beating the system of evil money-grabbing breweries, so worth supporting for that too. Has a quiz every weds, as well as loads of live music and art exhbitions.

The Lighthouse

Nice bar in Battersea. I went there a few times with John when it was Dovedale House - good garden, chilled atmosphere and nice for when I can't be bothered to go into town...