Historic drinking
Up to London this afternoon, after a little work. I will have to do a little more on the hogsite over the holidays: but it's manageable.
Being continually jostled on Oxford Street for a couple of hours wore my Christmas spirit to a tattered rag. Being lurched into by a small, drunken Big Issue seller who proceeded to hurl abuse at me for my rudeness was almost the last straw.
Things improved drastically walking down the Strand and Fleet Street, where I went to meet Bob in Ye Old Cheshire Cheese. While I waited for him, I fell into conversation with three young Australians, a girl and two boys. One called Tom had left Manchester two years ago and moved down under. He loves it there. All very cheery, which quickly restored my festive spirit. Bob appeared and we stayed with my new friends for half an hour or so. They were very young and it made me feel quite paternal, especially as the younger lad was not used to drinking very much.
Then Bob and I left, to complete our historic drinking popped into the Olde Mitre Tavern established in 1546. It was very busy but we managed to find a seat in the corner, and from there sat speculating on how the scene before us might have changed over the centuries.
Tangentally, Bob observed that many of the drinkers were lawyers and that lawyers often have interesting noses. Bob trains lawyers from time to time, so he is an authority on this. And an examination revealed there was a concentration of interesting noses in the room.
While we were involved in this important field research, Mick Ginty, an old friend who I'd not seen for years appeared, entirely randomly. Mick was looking well, and now lives in Rickmansworth, and works for Dell. It would have been bad manners not to pause for a couple of drinks with Mick before hurrying off in search of a curry, and allow Mick to rejoin his pals.
One was found at Smithfield Tandoori, and it was my second light and non-greasy curry in the last few days. The food was good but the lighting (mostly candle light) was so dim that it was almost impossible to read the menu.
Below a snap of Regent Street, which was not quite as furiously busy as Oxford Street, so I could pause to take a snap without being jostled.
Up to London this afternoon, after a little work. I will have to do a little more on the hogsite over the holidays: but it's manageable.
Being continually jostled on Oxford Street for a couple of hours wore my Christmas spirit to a tattered rag. Being lurched into by a small, drunken Big Issue seller who proceeded to hurl abuse at me for my rudeness was almost the last straw.
Things improved drastically walking down the Strand and Fleet Street, where I went to meet Bob in Ye Old Cheshire Cheese. While I waited for him, I fell into conversation with three young Australians, a girl and two boys. One called Tom had left Manchester two years ago and moved down under. He loves it there. All very cheery, which quickly restored my festive spirit. Bob appeared and we stayed with my new friends for half an hour or so. They were very young and it made me feel quite paternal, especially as the younger lad was not used to drinking very much.
Then Bob and I left, to complete our historic drinking popped into the Olde Mitre Tavern established in 1546. It was very busy but we managed to find a seat in the corner, and from there sat speculating on how the scene before us might have changed over the centuries.
Tangentally, Bob observed that many of the drinkers were lawyers and that lawyers often have interesting noses. Bob trains lawyers from time to time, so he is an authority on this. And an examination revealed there was a concentration of interesting noses in the room.
While we were involved in this important field research, Mick Ginty, an old friend who I'd not seen for years appeared, entirely randomly. Mick was looking well, and now lives in Rickmansworth, and works for Dell. It would have been bad manners not to pause for a couple of drinks with Mick before hurrying off in search of a curry, and allow Mick to rejoin his pals.
One was found at Smithfield Tandoori, and it was my second light and non-greasy curry in the last few days. The food was good but the lighting (mostly candle light) was so dim that it was almost impossible to read the menu.
Below a snap of Regent Street, which was not quite as furiously busy as Oxford Street, so I could pause to take a snap without being jostled.
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