Making your views heard

This lovely young woman: 

Lets call her Lady Shh of Shhshire, because she's obviously a pin-up for "good ol' fashioned Best-of-British reserve." Not true. I lied.

Instead she amazed me and my travelling companion when she:

1) Spoke very loudly in a packed but otherwise deathly quiet top floor of a double decker bus about her wedding. Well more to the point, her wedding invitation list. And at the sharpest end of that point: who would make the cut and who wouldn't. Stop there. That's enough. Aren't I meant to be the nasty, brutish and short delegate from the antipodean extremities? Anyway,
2) After half a dozen or so bus stops worth of loud prattle about who she liked and didn't like and who she was going to invite, the conversation turned even more gauche as the good Lady described who she would invite but who it became clear she hoped  would not actually come to her wedding! and in doing so, sharing the entire conversation with everybody else on the bus ( LORD! Has she no shame!)

3) Like this tedious and unseemly one way lecture,  the bus did an entirely unforeseeable event.

It turned a corner too.

4) At this point Lady Shh of Shhshire who was mid sentence discussing why she didn't think  Joan (or was it Nancy? ) would or wouldn't come to her wedding she abruptly slid off her seat and landed smack bang on the aisle on her arse.  Was the dear Lady phased, slowed or stopped in her wedding in-out public broadcast? Nope, she didn't even cough. She kept talking, in fifth gear.
5) Being a gentleman, I offered to help her up (in a half arsed way I confess) however my chivalry went the same way as these testicles  in the cold when I realised she wouldn't even acknowledge my tepid offer of assistance. So I left her on the floor of the bus babbling about Simon and Samantha - or was it Trent and Brooke?
6) At this point my travelling companion burst out laughing and giggling and encouraged me to secretly take Lady Shh's picture, for my blog.

The importance of sunshine

I wasn't making it up; it was sunny, very sunny. And now dear reader, take a breath, it was also warm. I even perspired. Briefly.

So what do the Brits do when these two components of life come together in Hamstead Heath? (Think prickly weeds and unforgiving gravel and ... erase). 

Back to the Brits. When its warm they go nutty. Brit + Warm = Nutty. As squirrel poo. 

 First they drag chairs onto the road and have a street festival like this:

Then they sit in the sun like this (Note that because I am schooled in the science of warmth management I am in the shade taking this picture):

and then they ponce about with their excellent posture like this:

until they fall in a pond like this:

and then to cap it off, they steal each others pets, put them on the train home and eat them:

 A smashing day out. What.

Shelter explored

Thankfully I have one. Besides the marvellous floorboards that I am pretty sure are made of this stuff 

a long time ago, it is boring, bland and dull. but it is also dry, sunny and very comfortable. Therefore I like it. 

It holds a double edged sword too: it is more than 4 minutes walk  from a pub in any direction. Recently it would have been less than 1 minute to the pub, but alas, this one

 has been closed to make way for gentrification shelter.


So the three frontrunners for my local pub are this one, this one and this one.  If you've been paying attention you'll notice that  the first has a very dull website and somewhat euphemistically described itself as having "a huge beer garden" . Well not so soon I say. More to the point, a car park with tables in it beside a very lorry (culturally sensitive word for "truck") prone road does not a beer garden make. So minus one point for that. On the other hand, they do play a fine selection of German Techno music just like this:

 at ear blood spitting volume, during the day, when nobody is there, so full marks for ingenious anti-marketing. 


Frontrunner no 2. is cool (as in people that frequent there are verging on looking like this:

 and it is dangerously very conveniently located between a train station and my shelter. For the alcohol indifferent think Monopoly (more on that later too) and "passing go" and simply collect pints of beer  instead of $200. 

Frontrunner no. 3 is in the lead because it is tiny and it feels medieval. In a 'Brave Heart used to drink here' kind of way. It also has a pretty good hidden local feel about it. Anyway, don't you think its purdy: 

enough shelter for now. I am going outside because it is sunny.  

Next, the basics: Food & Shelter

Living in Islington, London means there are many options for both. Food wise, I still find it hard to enjoy what I understand to be the London version of a Kebab. It's not because of the distinct suggestion that tuberculosis lurks near, after-all I like to gamble with my health as much as the next punter. Who doesn't? Further, who could think of a better weekend than being strapped to the toilet? What an utterly winning 48 hours.

Actually the problem with these style of kebabs are that they are missing one critical ingredient. You guessed it Cupid: ... Love. The only kebab taste I have ever experienced to date in London is one that combines the gag reflex of biting into a pound of gristle with a few precious shards of wet lettuce in a wholemeal bun, and its not even remotely hot. Weird, Loveless

And wrong (but not in a tut tut Nanny state kind of way- More on that later).

So where's the crunchy, salty, sloppy meat and the corpse stripping garlic sauce? In short: where's a Saray franchise when you need it?

On the greener side of the grass, there are gigatrillions of joints to eat and drink in my hood. It would bore you and me both attempting to name them.  Clearly that's not enough choice though. So I was forced to go to Soho for drinks, dinner, coffee (well actually more and more drinks because we were remembered from our last visit here over 14 years ago and treated like long lost family) and then ended up inside the bar through the door:

 And then I went to the toilet .  After that it was too much and I needed a lie down in my shelter (More on that later too).  Maybe I should give kebabs and a local boozer another go. When I do I'll provide a full report.

First things first. What makes an interesting blog?

Don't know actually. It seems easier to say what makes a bad one.  Bad ones by definition are boring. So no yawning descriptions of nothingness or trite self analysis. I promise. Instead this blog will be both snappy and interesting! Like this dude who claims to be from the Chelsea Smokers Society and has even drawn up a coat of arms to prove it (that you'll see if you wait to the end of his Scorcese inspired film):