Weekend Summary. Or, Um. Scrub That Last Post

[liadnan]

Well, my plans for Friday went a bit awry and instead I found myself in a rather good and cheap Chinese restaurant on Shad Thames slightly wankered at quarter to midnight. Nevermind, I made it home. Somehow.

Saturday I managed to make it to the river and watch Jenny shout at her eight from Hammersmith Bridge (no, no, she was in the boat, we were on the bridge). Then straight to the pub, and, via a chain of events which would be too boring to describe, by the evening, having re-acquired Jen, wound up in an Italian restaurant which suspiciously resembled the BadaBing from the Sopranos. And the waiter looked like Pussy. This kind of thing keeps happening to us: last time it was the Spanish Mafia, though I'm not going to tell that story.

The lurgy rehit about midnight and I couldn't face struggling back to Primrose Hill, so I ended up staying at R&S flat for the night, as did A. Watched War Porn for an hour or so when I woke up, ("9, wow that's early" "No, it's 10" "Bugger. Well, it's still early") which was as much as I could take: I don't have all they newfangled channels and have been limiting myself to my usual diet of an hour and a half of Today in the morning plus an occasional addition of Newsnight or Channel 4 News. Five minutes of watching a tank trying to shoot down a telegraph pole is enough to drive one to drink. Though the little red button for interactive viewing does make one wonder: how long before the tanks are all on wireless internet and are controlled by a bunch of teenagers with playstations and gameboys wired in?

Anyway, back to the river, abandoning my fine and sensible plans of going home, to pretend to watch the veteran crew of Jenny's club while in fact reading the papers and breakfasting on Bloody Marys. Which is a fine way to breakfast, though the barman did ask me if I wanted vodka in my Bloody Mary, so I had to kill him.

Finally home and up to Primrose Hill itself with a book. It's fantastic living less than a hundred yards from one of London's best views, most pleasant green bits, etc. However, on a good weekend quite a lot of the rest of London invades (how dare they). Still, a good afternoon with trashy fantasy.

Oh, and Cafe Corfu, one of my favourite restaurants, for Greek music all on my ownsome at the end of the day.

And that's why I didn't do my homework miss.

It's actually tomorrow that I technically become a full member of Chambers, though I've been almost so for six months and known I would for sure for quite a few. Cool.

Comments

[a-rob-z.livejournal.com]

Katy & Simon came round and I ended up cooking dinner on Sunday, and we sat on the roof garden so don't you be dissing british summer time. Decided a tactical day off was called for today. Well done on technically being a fully paid up member of chambers. I have a phone interview tomorrow, it has been three years since I last had to go for a job.

[liadnan]

Hey, where'd you come from? Other than the obvious place that is.
BST is a con for stupid people who need to be lied to about the time. If I remember correctly, it was invented for farmers, but all the farmers I have ever know, which is quite a few, just work when it's light. Official things like the opening of the LSE and gummint office hours could just be moved by incremental stages through the year if necessary, and everyone else can go to work in dark or light as they feel like. Why do you need to be told its later than it is to enjoy drinking on your terrace?
Right, that's the annual rant over. Good luck with interview. Are we supposed to be going to the Tempest or something by the way?

[greyarea.livejournal.com]

The barman asked if you wanted vodka in the bloody mary? As opposed to what, exactly?

Also, congrats on actually being a full member of chambers now. Does it make it all worthwhile?

[liadnan]

To be honest it doesn't feel much different to being a third six pupil who knows he is about to be taken on and keeps getting sent to court. Worth it... well, we'll see how the cash flow develops.
I have no idea what the barman thought he was doing.