In the Cittie
Another night full of vivid dreams, and then up craving for a damn fine cup of Joe, once this and toast needs sated burned the Armenian flute music on Mum's laptop to take home, and Mum and I travelled into town on separate missions, saying goodbye at Baker Street.
I went off to Tavistock Square and had a lunchtime beer with Pat and Karam. A good gossip and lots of laughs. Pat going into a school next year too, to talk about advertising to 16 year olds. Then a pleasant couple of hours wandering about in London free as a bird, pausing for a bite to eat and a browse in Foyles bookshop before making my way to meet Mick Ginty in Ye Old Mitre pub dating back to 1546. Satisfying to sit there in a busy, wood panelled room near and a portrait of Henry VIII and a real fire. One of those timeless London moments. Mick talking about the arrival of The Gintini, his and Lucy's baby due in about six weeks.
Bob arrived and after an overlap, Mick left. Bob and I then proceeded on an extensive tour of historic London boozers including The Cittie of Yorke and ending up at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which is like stepping inside a Victorian Christmas card. From there to a curry house where the old Mad Dog made the schoolboy error of complaining about the last meal he'd eaten there, before we were served. Forked into a rather nice curry but I for one all too alive to unseen reprisals taken in the kitchen.
The evening ended and I caught a taxi to Victoria, and then snoozed most of the way home on a late train to Brighton. Not done that in a while.
Below a snap of the interior of The Cittie of Yorke.
Another night full of vivid dreams, and then up craving for a damn fine cup of Joe, once this and toast needs sated burned the Armenian flute music on Mum's laptop to take home, and Mum and I travelled into town on separate missions, saying goodbye at Baker Street.
I went off to Tavistock Square and had a lunchtime beer with Pat and Karam. A good gossip and lots of laughs. Pat going into a school next year too, to talk about advertising to 16 year olds. Then a pleasant couple of hours wandering about in London free as a bird, pausing for a bite to eat and a browse in Foyles bookshop before making my way to meet Mick Ginty in Ye Old Mitre pub dating back to 1546. Satisfying to sit there in a busy, wood panelled room near and a portrait of Henry VIII and a real fire. One of those timeless London moments. Mick talking about the arrival of The Gintini, his and Lucy's baby due in about six weeks.
Bob arrived and after an overlap, Mick left. Bob and I then proceeded on an extensive tour of historic London boozers including The Cittie of Yorke and ending up at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which is like stepping inside a Victorian Christmas card. From there to a curry house where the old Mad Dog made the schoolboy error of complaining about the last meal he'd eaten there, before we were served. Forked into a rather nice curry but I for one all too alive to unseen reprisals taken in the kitchen.
The evening ended and I caught a taxi to Victoria, and then snoozed most of the way home on a late train to Brighton. Not done that in a while.
Below a snap of the interior of The Cittie of Yorke.
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