17 March 2010

Happy St Patrick's Day, to one and all! I prefer Bloom's Day myself. Can't wait for that to come around. Perhaps I'll go to Ireland to celebrate it this year. London is just a trick for that kind of thing. I remember, Chloe and I celebrated it one year at the Dog's Bollix over some performance Ulysses. What brilliant fun!

Well, tonight I am listening to Joy Division, on account of the fact that Jade came around and brought with her the film Control. What a great piece of film. I'm very pleased. As soon as I put the music on after the credits, we imitated the dance that he inspired. A lot of thrusting of fists and what not. We amuse ourselves...

Jade came around tonight for dinner and a bottle of wine. I supplied a disappointing feast of fried rice after crudities consisting of vegetables and hummus. We both love our vegetables so it wasn't that disappointing except that I was trying to imitate the taste of Thailand in the stir-fry with a mix of soy, chilli and lime. More lime and soy was needed. The effort was commendable, and so she forgave me and then ate it. After we finished the last of the G&Ts from our party those weeks ago, we embarked upon the lovely bottle of wine that she brought. Well, how dire the ordeal! So dire, that we broke the bottle opener in not one but two places! You wouldn't believe it. I promise to post pictures of both the broken bottle opener and also the way that the cork filled bottle, which now sits on the mantle to commemorate the occasion. Note well both the previous and current Ciceronian shaped syntax and also the fact that two mere females were able to push a cork into a bottle, please. You won't see the expulsion over the kitchen floor but you can hopefully imagine it.

And a lot of fun was had by all.

Tonight consisted of much discussion of the details and cimenatography of the way in which Ian Curtis' life was portrayed. The film gives much elucidation to the story of Twenty Four Hour Party People and therefore I recommend it.

Other fateful occurrences of Wednesday might be that I once again bumped into my old boss at a planning law seminar. I had to rush off at the end, hence missing the sandwich lunch supplied by the hosting firm for which I was starving, in order to boot it back to King's Cross for my Brazilian. That's right. I get a Brazilian and I get it from a Brazilian woman. Goodness knows how I managed to find a Brazilian who was willing to give me one of those! But I did. And, incidentally, if anyone finds themselves in my neighbourhood and needs one, I can give a good recommendation. She is extremely thorough. Not that anyone is looking at mine in my case. Except me of course and even then it's very seldom.

In true Irish style, Jade and I finished the night in a conversation over whiskey. In a very non-traditional manner however, it is eleven and we've called it a night with tomorrow's working day in mind.

I remember one year, Chloe and I celebrated St Patrick's Day through free tickets to Moby. I dislike Moby. But, whilst at our regular tea spot at the old Mezze bar on the corner of Wakefield Street and Mayoral Drive, which has since sadly (almost mortifyingly so) been turned into an apartment block, we were accosted by a loud American man who had been annoying us all night and who wanted to acquire one of our cigarettes. We were reluctant. He was persistent. In the end, he offered us four free tickets to the aforementioned concert (you wouldn't believe it, he was the drummer)which was taking place the next night at the Town Hall and we gave in, again reluctantly - as I say, we aren't big fans. It turns out that these tickets were worth quite a lot. Much more than a cigarette. On St Patrick's Day we turned up at the door with two guests - hers being John, mine being Jade and we gained entry on the door list. The drummer had kept his word. And so we grinned and bore the concert, after which I was determined to get my cigarette back. There is a back entrance to the Town Hall; it's opposite the library - the security isn't tight enough for the most wily and determined of us.

The result: I retrieved my stolen cigarette, organised a number of free vodkas for our team and took an audience with Moby and what were seemingly his whores (and I don't use the word too lightly) in some seedy back room where the "artists" are held. Afterwards, we headed for the nearest Irish pub, which from memory was the most classy of establishments - Murphy's - and after that, I couldn't tell you what ensued because I can't remember past the green vodka shots...

I hope that you've all had a smashing St Paddy's Day and all I can say as a result is "Chloe! Lovely to hear from you today. I only hope that Potato is reading this. Come back to London! And as per my email, you'll complete the trifecta, triple-pronged attack! And also, we miss you terribly. I throw Potato face around all the time, but it's just not the same as when it's on your lovely visage."

Yours,

The Author and your Poochi.

As an after thought, following a bit of research, a trifecta is actually a type of horse bet. It has an interesting derivation if you cared to look it up.