What is wrong with people?

Another day, another unpredictable London commute...

Along with the change in seasons, the crisp snap in the air, and the ever-earlier descent into dusk each evening; there seems to be a change in people. Maybe it's naivety to London, or random coincidences, but to me it seems that lately, people have been unleashing a streak of madness during the evening commute.

The other night, I witnessed two City-types (our bus is from the City to the East End, so it's packed full of suits, laptop bags and the odd very posh school child normally) come to physical blows for no apparent reason.

One woman, sat by the window, was blocked in by another woman. Both were smartly dressed, respectable looking business people. I was lost in my own world of very loud earphones filling my brain with feeling alive and emptying the feeling of being at work, and trying to ignore the guy next to me who was clearly late for something. You know the type. Glancing at his watch every 3 seconds, huffing and puffing, and his knee jiggling against me like someone who's just returned from a particularly chemical-heavy rave and is still twitching to the now non-existent tunes.

As I tried to move away from Nervous Man, I noticed the woman next to the window stand up. I instinctively turned my headphones down from 11 to hear the commotion. The lady blocking her path simply refused to move. As in just point blank refused - she sat there like a stone. Now I have no idea if these women know each other but it did escalate into quite a scene of fisticuffs, people were visibly turning their ipods down to listen in...

A few nights ago No'rn I'ron and I got on the bus after work, she went upstairs as usual and I remained on the lower deck. (I don't like going upstairs if I am carrying my laptop, coat, handbag etc as I always feel like I am going to stack it down the steep stairs, I seem to be really at the mercy of inertia in that tiny stairwell)

I am losing myself in Twitter and tunes as usual when I get a text.

NI: "There is a woman in front of me emotionally abusing this guy - thinks she's Dita von Teese - more like her Nan. I l'il bit afraid"

Laughing, I reply:

"I just laughed out loud. WTF. I'm blasting out Jay-Z"

NI: "They comin!"

Alas the time it took to send the text down the stairwell of inertia, they'd gone and I missed them. Shame as I was looking forward to seeing an old Burlesque type, with her emotionally trapped boyfriend.

I flicked through my playlist and was enjoying some M.I.A., when my iPhone dinged again.

NI: "Help Me. Norn Irish guy won't stop talking to me and he's really drunk. For f*cks sake!"

Me: "What's going on today?! You should come downstairs"

NI: "He's goin to shout stuff! I may jump out window!"

Me: "What's he shouting? Tunes turned down but can't hear him...?"

NI: "Down his fone, that I'm young and good lookin but I won't talk to him!"

She actually looked traumatised when she came downstairs from being subjected to this, with the sympathy of the bus onlookers as they watched this drunk bloke sit next to her and talk about her to someone on the phone.

The worst commute was Thursday. We'd had a HUGE day at work on Wednesday, with the traditional night out afterwards, suffice to say, by 6pm Thursday we were both hanging by a thread onto our sanity and basic brain processes. We were ready for a nice, easy trip home to tea, toast and PJs.

Just to test our patience a little bit, the number 26 bus decided to stop outside Liverpool St station for a good 10-15 minutes, before deciding, yes, the indicators on the bus were broken, so we'd need to hop off.

At this point we had faces like thunder and there were no swear words that accurately conveyed our frustration. Now we could have made our lives easier and hopped on the tube one stop, but no, I had crap to carry and insisted we should just hop on the next bus going our way, easy.

We chose a Bethnal Green bus instead of our usual one and oh, how we regretted it. All seemed fine for the first five minutes, except the irritating chatter of other passengers, until the bus stopped and some skinny little London hoodrat got on and flashed his Oyster card. The driver must have said something about it not being valid, and this kid (looked about 14 but you never know) launched into a tirade of argument,

"Da fing is yeah, dis is VALID like, you should check da website man, check da website! " etc etc.

He might have had a point, I've no idea what the contentious issue was. BUT he carried on yelling in the driver's face for the next four stops. THE DRIVER'S LET YOU ON THE BUS ANYWAY, WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?! Shut. Up.

The whole bus was watching this, except a massively annoying couple next to me who insisted on talking really loudly in the way you do when you know other people are listening. It was 'conversational' but in a 'how many big words can I get into this sentence? I might roadtest this loud discussion to showcase my surpressed stand up comedy desires' sort of way. They looked like the least fun couple ever.

Needless to say, this journey had taken over an hour and I was incandescent with rage. No'rn I'ron was practically in tears with tiredness and frustration by now; and on the verge of a massive two-year-old style paddy, and I was actually rationalising whether I could take this noisy chav idiot out with my laptop bag. (I came to the conclusion that, yes, yes I could, but since he was all up in the driver's grill, I'd endanger the lives of fellow commuters.) In all honesty though, since at that point I just HATED PEOPLE, perhaps I should have done everyone a favour and bowled my Dell right up the bus aisle into hoodrat's annoying face.

What is wrong with everyone?

Chris Martin: Less Annoying Than You'd Think

One contact lens knocked out in the first five minutes so a gig through half-sight? Check.

Post-gig condition commonly known as 'Beer Hair'? Check.

Ditto the above but 'Beer Chest'? Check.

Shoes ruined and wet through? Check.

Hardly any phone battery because of all the "Where are you? No I'm next to the lighting rig... WHAT? No the OTHER one!!" calls? Check.

Makeup literally washed off my face, and soaked through to my underwear? Check.

Ahhh it's been a good night. Wembley Stadium, Jay-Z, Coldplay, my excellent old friends and 89,994 other excited people. When Madhead offered me the tickets, I hesitated. Coldplay are, well, alright, in fact you can't knock that they're a talented band. But it's not like I ever chose to stick them on my iPod. Jay-Z on the other hand, rocked at Glasto last year and he's hip hop man of the moment (blew that one at the VMA's didn't you Kanye? Tit), so I thought, why not?

Shambolic from the start, Madhead, Essex Boy and the others turn up an hour and a half after I get there. And they had the tickets. So by this time, I'd missed Girls Aloud (was secretly quite excited about seeing them), White Lies (wanted to see just to cry to Death live since it's an epic, soaring track) and half the Jay-Z set. They, apart from Essex Boy who was driving, were all what can only be described as very, very drunk.

I was met with an overexcited yell of "heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy-ohhhhhhhh!" in a style that was possibly meant to be hip-hop but was more Ron Burgundy. Ace.

The stadium is monstrously vast, I've never seen so many people inside one structure. We made our way in excitedly, Madhead doing his "listen guys, GUYS!" and ordering everyone around so that we could catch some Jay-Z. Beers in hand, we made our way down onto the pitch area into the masses of bouncing people, and I promptly lost everyone. So I watched Jay-Z alone, chanting "Bounce, bounce" with everyone else and having a thoroughly good time. Say what you like about him, the bloke's a superstar on stage and absolutely works the crowd. Singing along to Hard Knock Life with that many people is more fun than you could imagine. His stage presence is momentous.

So, the break between acts arrived and I finally hooked up with everyone else. Upon making our way onto the pitch area to get a good spot for Coldplay, Madhead manages to feel me up more than once and gleefully proclaims,

"The others [who I'd not met before this evening] were asking what you were like. I said Northern, funny and massive tits." Um, thanks for that. Possibly only two out of three are true.

As the crowd goes mental when Chris Martin strides on stage, we realise that yes, the stadium has no roof. Beginning with spitting rain, which was not altogether unpleasant, the heavens suddenly opened and by the time the band have started Yellow, it's literally pissing it down. Properly like when you're under a shower and you can't quite open your eyes in the force of the flow. Arm in arm, belting out this song along with everyone else, with beautiful (yellow, natch) lighting and the late summer rain soaking everyone through was pretty special. We were all grinning like morons, striking power ballad poses and jumping around in the wet.

The set was biiiiiig songs, not too much annoying talk from Chris Martin, rousing guitar and chorus breaks and a crowd who were all over it. We pushed our way through to near the front, I managed not to lose my shoes (my coral pink brogues which I think are now f*cked) or any of our party. In a suitable spot, Rather Drunk Girl was hoisted up on various shoulders then dropped her phone. I was very surprised at the gig sense of community, it took very little effort apart from the useless shouts of "has anyone seen a phone?!" to encourage a large group of moshing guys to part a hole in the crowd in the bouncy bit of a big song and help look for it - even offering their own mobile phone light to try and locate it on the muddy, scuzzy floor. Happily, it was found and this may have elicited a bigger cheer from us than any of the songs.

After decamping to a little acoustic stage and doing a commendable version of Billie Jean, Chris Martin asked the crowd to get their mobiles out and instructs them to do a phone Mexican wave round the stalls. The almost perfect choreography of the twinkling lights around the stadium was pretty inspired and got everyone all excited again for the big anthemic finale.

By this point, Drunk Boy and I had lost everyone else after a badly-timed trek through endless people for a loo break and we just spent the rest of the set annoying other people by weaving through them hand in hand muttering "Sorry! Sorry!" FYI people at gigs: deliberately digging your elbows in to get a few well-placed jabs as we pass, simply because we're slightly annoying you for a second is not good gig etiquette. What would Mr Martin or Mr Z say to that sort of lack of festive spirit? Hmm? You ought to get home and think about what you did. Not cool.

It took about 45 minutes to reassemble most of the group outside the stadium, not counting Rather Drunk Girl who'd dashed off into the front of the crowd during the acoustic set - she still hadn't been located by the time I made a break for it, so I hope she's been found and someone has given her some water. And paracetamol.

Another 40 minutes or so just to get to the Tube station, incredible police crowd control so tip of the cap to you, London Met police. I thought that my night had ended on a personal geeky high when I deliberately took the crowd routes right alongside the formations of police horses. One particularly magnificent grey beast gave me a friendly sniff as I passed and I got a whiff of my favourite smell in the whole world: horses and leather. I was content to find my way home with this nostalgic scent in my nose, bringing back memories of a lifetime spent at the stables.

But it got better. People-watching on the Tube, I was stationed next to a gaggle of twenty something Londoners and was giggling inwardly at one of them, clearly drunk, going off on a comedy monologue at his companion's expense.

"Ohh Hackney, everyone has funny hair and is really pretentious. Felix you're surrounded by those people you hate, but you're ONE of them!" *guffaw* Felix looked a bit sheepish.

Suddenly, a girl behind me squeals to them, "Like, Oh my GOD, are you the Maccabees?!" They admit that yes, yes they are, and took the intrusion into their boozy night out very well. They even sweetly agreed to various photos of them with said admirers in the packed tube. I got chatting to Felix's girlfriend who was very lovely - she told me I had nicely coloured hair and we agreed that we didn't really like Coldplay that much, after discussing the fact that most of the Tube carriage was returning from the gig. As we went through the Tube gates at Liverpool St, Orlando let me go first which was very gentlemanly. And, incidentally, he's very beautiful. Just saying.

All in all, a random, brilliant night. And Chris Martin, who'd I'd always thought of as a bit of a Bono-wannabe twat, was actually not as annoying as you'd think. And he certainly can put on a gig.

Less sofa-paralysis, and more Lotto result predictions please, Derren Brown

Why? How?

I do NOT understand how I've not won the EuroMillions draw yet. I bought three lines last night. And not one number. Tell me, universe, how is this fair?

I will buy tickets for this evening's bog standard UK Lotto, with the piffling £10m or so prize (I didn't mean that, Lotto karma, I'd be grateful for a couple of grand or so. Thanks), but the most I've ever won is a tenner.

I have sooooooo many good ideas for that cash. Why does the lottery sometimes go to horrible examples of human beings like the bloke in Burberry who'd been in prison and spent the cash on stupid souped up sports cars? I've never been in prison. Never even had detention at school. Ergo, I am more deserving.

I like to think about what I'd do if I did win. I've discussed this many times, often with the Grumpy Scot, and the first thing is, book a MASSIVE, obscene holiday for all your friends. That's a given. Perhaps just rent out a big beach house in Antigua for a month and drink cocktails in the sun and have a laugh wondering what on earth you'll do with the rest of the cash.

Then after all the usual stuff everyone says about sorting out your family and friends, and giving some to charity, comes the interesting bit. I'd firstly learn to drive, in an Aston Martin, naturally.

Then I'd buy myself a country pile to house my next purchases; horses. I'd get a highly-strung chestnut Arab, a statuesque grey Andalucian and a selection of others. And a donkey called Craig to keep them company. If it was the utterly obscene EuroMillions win, like the £89m the lucky French bugger won last night, I'd commission an old treasure hunter to go and find me a unicorn because they MUST exist somewhere, and if I'm rich, I deserve one.

Since I like wine and tea, I'd start my own tea plantation in a few of the manor house's acres; and sort out a personal vineyard. I'd do endless courses on things I love and travel a lot.

Oh and perhaps buy some excellent Louboutins. A lot of them.

Endless ideas, and obviously as well as all the indulgent, materialistic stuff, I'd do lots of good work for other people.

Right, I'd better get ready for the Coldplay and Jay-Z gig at Wembley Stadium this evening, and pack my stuff for the Edinburgh work trip tomorrow.

And buy some Lotto tickets. Wish me luck, world. Hopefully I'll win and my next post will be on a Macbook Pro from some far-flung corner of the globe.

Playlist Recommendations II

"It was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line. I really f*cked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"

Being off work this week has given me some much-prized time to add to my music collection. A few hours here and there on trains is pure bliss, iPod in, watching the city of London recede into green, and the sky change in the Autumn light.

My current obsessions also include:

Wild Beasts, 'All the Kings' Men' - possibly the perfect tune. I actually can't get enough of it. His voice is resonantly sexy, veering happily between falsetto and rich, deep tones. Love love love it.

Mumford & Sons, 'Little Lion Man' - Heartfelt, vibrant folk, lovely lyrics spat over frantic guitar and ukelele. Gorgeous

Phenomenal Handclap Band, '15 to 20' - you'll either find it beguiling or hugely irritating and you'll be joining in the first time you hear it. Insanely catchy.

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, 'The Golden Age' - impossibly upbeat Scandinavian quirky pop with candy sweet vocals and a swing undertone. Makes you smile.

Emiliana Torrini, 'Me and Armini' - half-Icelandic, half-Italian, the sweetest voice you've ever heard, same odd qualities as Bjork but more melodic.

Nextmen & Dynamite MC, 'Round of Applause' - old-school, sampley hip-hop, rich and resonant MC-ing

Hope you enjoy another little eclectic mix....

~TeaQueen~

"Now drink up and f*ck off"

I don't know what it is about me that invites hilarious Eastend-types to try it on. The sort of person who ends every sentence with "innit" and sports dubious jewellery.

Last night I'd gone to meet an old friend, A, for a catch up and some dinner. We'd gone to a local- type pub that A recommended, just outside the trendy bubble of Hoxton. It was a good mix of flock wallpaper, edgy haircuts and old locals propping up the bar. The wine list consists of red, white or rose. At the bargainous price of £11 a bottle, we weren't complaining. I pay double that for the bar house white in the City.

We'd arrived at this pub on the premise of there being a roof terrace, what a charming little gem in the midst of East London. It's shabby but with quirky features like giant plant pots that glow neon after dark, and we managed to get a table both times which is a rarity on a Friday evening in achingly hip Shoreditch/ Haggerston/ Hoxton.

A also recommended what is now my new favourite restaurant: Song Que. No frills, minimal customer service, but the best Vietnamese food I've ever had. On the Kingsland Rd which is wall to wall Vietnamese cafes, this place is apparently one of the older eateries with a long standing customer base. We arrived about 8 and it was jam packed with City types, families, couples; generating a buzzy and lively atmosphere. The tables are in pretty close proximity to each other but it's a pleasant experience. We shared the mixed starter with spicy squid, crispy seaweed and tasty spring rolls. For mains there was sumptuous beef with thick black bean sauce and a real fresh chilli kick, and A ordered monk fish stir fried with lemongrass and chilli. We also ordered some yummy garlic greens on the side - everything was bursting with flavour and generously portioned. We were also delighted to see the house white was under a tenner. The waiter service is no nonsense but the food arrived pretty rapidly so we could enjoy it within our alloted time space. This is not a venue for languishing round the table, rounding everything off with dessert, coffee and liquers.

One thing I'd suggest is that ladies should venture downstairs to the bathroom approximately 15 minutes before you think you might need to go. The loos are downstairs, I was confused to stumble into what's essentially a massive storeroom packed with sacks of rice and crates of beer, with some shabbily partioned-off toilets in the corner. One ladies' loo, eight girls queuing. Not fun.

After settling up the very reasonable bill, we decided to avoid the Hoxton crowd and head back to the roof terrace for smoking and chattering. It's quite a surreal experience climbing up to the terrace, since it's about four flights of narrow wooden stairs, with uneven undulating floors (total headf*ck if you're drunk, I would have thought) and inexplicably, flashing overhead lights that change through a spectrum of colours in a slightly sinister way and make you feel a bit like you're ascending to a climactic scene in a David Lynch film.

While we waxed lyrical about families, mutual friends and randomly, A's latest book passion, whaling (fascinating and inspired me to read Moby Dick today); we could overhear a local loudmouth arguing the toss about being asked to go downstairs with his drink. With an "'Allo darlin'", he started chatting to us and was clearly slightly worse for wear, but friendly and entertaining. So, formally introduced to Spencer (he very much looked like Gary from East Enders but slightly scarier and more on the ball), we sat downstairs with him and his mates who were all of a similar ilk.

Which is where my first paragraph comes in. A young guy, wearing sportswear and a chain, with a London street accent takes a shine to me and starts asking about what I do. I ask him the same out of vague amused interest.

"I work for Bloomberg, like, innit"

"Oh really, what exactly do you do?"

"Closing deals, innit."

"Riiiiight....[looking suitably impressed] What sort of deals?"

"Big ones, yeah? Like 10k and shit." At this point he's doing that emphatic nodding thing to really show me how cool that was. I was thinking it was pretty unlikely he had GNVQs, but he was trying very hard.

"You look well nice, what you drinking, like?" [asked while looking aproximately 12 inches below my eye line]

"White wine."

"Ah right, Chardonnay innit?"

"Um, no."

I've also been accosted at a bus stop by a local guy dripping in bling who's opening line was "You smell nice, innit" - cause of much hilarity at work and new catch phrases. Perhaps I give off some unknown beacon to blokes who listen to R n B and wear bandanas at jaunty angles.

At this point, Spencer, who's stood at the bar, announces loudly to the remaining drinkers, "Time at the bar - now DRINK UP AND F*CK OFF!" A and I take this as our cue to leave the London men to their own devices, not before we're invited to 'Spencer's gaff' to carry on the drinking with them. (The conversation about what to do next included one of them suggesting the bar across the road, but another vetoing it, "I'm barred from there, innit".)

With much unnecessary hugging and cheek kissing from Spencer and crew (all very polite and European), A and I trot off towards our respective houses, laughing at the randomness.

I'm thinking I'll take No'rn I'ron to Song Que for dinner again this eve, since I can't be arsed to cook. Perhaps avoid the local pub though....

Some required listening....

Hello world,

Quick insight into my current musical passions. I am always recommending music to people, so if anyone is looking for something new I'd recommend the tracks below...This is my current obsession list, my soundtrack to my work journey and my most played tracks.

Alessi's Ark, 'The Horse' - lush acoustica

Animal Collective, 'Summer Time Clothes' and 'My Girls' - layered, epic, need to listen loud

Bat For Lashes, 'Daniel' - ethereal folky electronica

The Bees, 'Listening Man' - soulful

Bombay Bicycle Club, 'I had the Blues But I Shook Them Loose' - album, brilliant

EasyStar Allstars - any album, reggae versions of classic songs

Emmy the Great, 'We almost had a Baby' - more acoustica

Fanfarlo, 'The Walls Are Coming Down'

Florence & The Machine, 'Lungs' album - huge sound, dramatic performances and theatrical posturing

Friendly Fires album

First Aid Kit, 'Hard Believer' - acoustic choral beauty from Sweden

Golden Silvers, 'True Romance' album, unusual sound and catchy choruses

Grizzly Bear, 'Two Weeks' - harmonies reminiscent of Fleet Foxes

Laura Marling, 'Alas I Cannot Swim' album - delicate, quirky, folky loveliness; ex-girlfriend of Charlie Fink (ace name) from Noah & The Whale I believe

Lykke Li, 'Dance Dance Dance' - Scandinavian simplicity, kudos for using the underrated cow bell in a tune

Major Lazer, 'Can't Stop' - big dub sounds, keeping hold of summer

Noah & The Whale, 'First Days of Spring' album - written in the throes of heartbreak, bleak and beautiful with a little bit of hope thrown in

Passion Pit, 'Manners' album - samply, high pitched choruses, catchy as f*ck

Patrick Wolf, 'Magic Position' - brilliantly pomped up song with strings and horns and a soaring chorus, you can't help but sing it

Taken By Trees, 'My Boys' - cute cover of the Animal Collective tune 'My Girls' (above), whimsical

Turin Brakes, 'Set the Dark on Fire' - epitomy of their big guitar song with elongated high vocals and an evocative atmosphere

White Lies, 'Death' - still love this big 80s sounding song, love anything that builds and drops like this and it's reminiscent of something really special in the past, so now it's tinged with sadness. But in a good way

Wintersleep, 'Weighty Ghost' - sweet folky sound

Hope some of these make their way onto your iPods if they're not there already.

Happy Friday and go and lose yourself in the above

x

More shots from Southbank......

Southbank by Night and Snogging on the Tube

Sunday afternoon, fit to burst after a roast dinner (chicken roasted with garlic and lemon, with asparagus, honey & mustard drizzled carrots and some nice greens), and contemplating the evening before.

No'rn I'ron and I decided to head to the Southbank for a meal and a trip on the London Eye. Touristy yes, but I think it's important to indulge in these things even when you live in a place - just for the sense of having done it, and to give you an excuse to get out of touristy stuff when you have people visit. Also as a photographer, the opportunity to take aerial shots of the city at night was too tempting.

We ate at Ping Pong in the Southbank Centre, I'd recommend if you like Dim Sum and fine cocktails. It bills itself as a "21st Century Teahouse" so naturally I was excited, but ironically, after enjoying a couple of cocktails (I'd suggest the Melon & Sage Martini; and the Ginger & Limoncello Caipirinha), the warm drink of choice on the blustery Southbank was Sake rather than the exquisite flowering teas they do there. It gives me an excuse to go back again to sample the teas.

Satisfied, we went to investigate the London Eye. Full of stories about the horrific queues, we expected the worst but actually it seems going at 9pm pays off - paying the pretty steep fee of £17.50, we headed straight towards the boarding gate. The structure itself is really impressive. The Eye is a landmark you can see from so many vantage points in London, but when you're underneath it next to the Thames, you realise how incredible it is.

No'rn I'ron is famed for her hatred of small children, so I feared the worst as we got herded with a bunch of tourist strangers into one of the futuristic pods, in case she went postal and drop kicked a tot from hundreds of feet above the Thames; but we escaped with a couple of older kids in our party. She looked tetchy but I reminded her,

"You can reason with the older ones. That, or it's more acceptable to smack them. Can't bribe babies right?"

This seemed to placate her and we began to ascend slowly over the twinkling, bustling Southbank. The view of Westminster, Millenium Bridge and the surrounding city truly is astounding. We kept grinning at each other and squealing quietly, "we live here!"

The Eye as an experience is really enjoyable. I was worried that being in such close proximity with random strangers could be claustrophobic and ruin the experience, but it was fine to walk around and stretch myself into funny positions for shooting, or lean in certain places to steady my camera for the necessary long shutter speed shots.

One thing that did mildly mar the experience was couples. I don't mean to be anti-love or anything, and it certainly is an incredibly romantic thing to look over this iconic skyline at night with your loved one (FYI, anyone who fancies taking me on a date would gain major brownie points for booking a private pod) - BUT - I do not need to see or hear you sucking each others' faces off. (This also goes for the Tube - who thinks snogging when you're literally inches from other people on the Central Line is acceptable?!)

Sorry, single rant over, and back to the London Eye. It has to be one of my favourite London experiences so far, just because cities lit up against nuclear skies look so magical, and the skyline of London has to be one of the best. We hopped off after the half hour and took shots of County Hall along the Southbank, and the Dali sculptures then went to Las Iguanas to pay over the odds to rude barmen for Prosecco.

Here, the mystical nature of the night was brought back down to earth by the festival hall steps, as Essex boys hollering at each other echoed through the evening, and my personal favourite, a girl in trackies with a pitbull, clutching a bottle of wine.

Gotta love London.

PS

Whilst I've been sat here writing this blog, No'rn I'ron caught site of one of our resident mice from where they scamper out from under the sink. (I've christened one of them InDanger Mouse, if I ever catch the little blighter.) I'd told her about how bold they were getting, coming out during the day when were padding about. Now she could see it for herself. I normally watch them quietly with fascination, whereas No'rn I'ron yelled "FECK OFF!" and watched the mouse inevitably squeeze itself into the gap from whence it came.

She turns to me. "They might be getting bold but they understand 'Feck off!'"

A Night out in the East End

Bank Holiday weekend. What's a girl to do?

It's a luxurious mix of being able to have a lazy day watching trashy films and eating and generally lazing about the house; but still having two whole days to do stuff so you don't get the guilt of a 'wasted' weekend. London is a bad place for that, so so much to do that staying at home for a weekend kicking back is shadowed by an anxiety that you're missing out on city life.

Last Sunday I organised an outing to show a visiting colleague, and other mates from work, a bit of the East End. The agenda was Columbia Rd flower market for a wander and brunch, then seeing what happened. I was hoping we'd maintain the unspoken tradition of Bank Holiday Sunday afternoons in the pub (it's rude not to because you have Monday off.)

After some appalling directions from the nearest tube station to my house, I met the Fin and the Dane and we wandered to the market. Before we could even contemplate entering the throng, we stopped off at the rough and ready Italian bar at the bottom of the market for the traditional Sunday brunch of a fry up and a beer.

Replete, we wandered through the buzzy, busy, noisy market, picking up some massive (and surprisingly heavy) sunflowers; and armfuls of simple English gladioli on our way. I was restrained from getting overexcited and buying plants, since in my head I am a savvy city gardener, who enjoys being among the kitchen garden foliage on the balcony. The reality of this is a dead window box, dead hanging basket and some chillis who've seen better days.

Now we could tick off the market, we met up with some other work mates in Hoxton Square for afternoon drinks. We found ourselves a good outside spot a funky bar and proceeded to make our way through enough wine for The Fin to berate us, since she had to fly to Norway that afternoon and we'd basically be responsible for her forthcoming dehydration and headache on the plane. Whoops. Fun though, we agreed on that.

Bank Holiday excess truly kicking in, the next stop was Broadway Market's Dove pub - a cosy bustling bar serving about a million Belgian beers and some rather excellent homemade food. The Dane and I thought Bloody Marys were a great idea for starters, we were right at the time. I highly recommend their sausages, apparently the Springbok ones are particularly good.

By this point, we were worse for wear and Nor'n I'ron had to head homewards. With an intrepid Scots colleague on his way across London to join us, the only option was to carry on. Full of wine, it seemed a great mission to drag ourselves to Shoreditch, so we investigated Bethnal Green's bars after being chucked out of The Dove at closing. I am fully aware that there are some credible and fun places to frequent in Bethnal Green, but as the local tour guide I inexplicably felt drawn to the dodgy local boozer. In we trooped, clearly tipsy and not the usual clientele.

Amid some staring, we bravely ordered our round and were about to pour back out of the front door to smoke on the pavement. Suddenly, a figure that can only be described as a Chinese dwarf whizzed around the side of the bar and began to shout at us; we quickly comprehended this to mean we weren't allowed to smoke out the front. He literally herded us out to the beer garden at the back to join a group of suspicious-looking tracksuit-clad locals.

Unfortunately for my friends, who live in South/ West London, I promptly decided at this point that the glass of cheap wine I was consuming had finished me off and I needed bed. Now.

I felt bad about leaving them there, but apparently they'd had a perfectly pleasant time after I'd gone and it was actually quite an experience.

Perhaps it will become my local boozer, now I know the rules about smoking out the back.

Photo Gallery

Building my photo gallery....

http://c2ther.deviantart.com/gallery/

Enjoy x