A night out with Anton
Another day of taking life comparatively easy, working in my study which seems to be the warmest room in the house, in the company of cats.
Out with Anton this evening. I caught the bus into town, and we bumped into each other on the street as I was getting beer tokens out of the cash machine. Then to spend them: off to a couple of pubs, The Seven Stars and The Black Lion. The pubs full of people on awkward office parties. We went to Zizzi's where we were thoughtfully given a romantic table for two. The pizza however marred by an excess of unnecessary mascarpone.
Anton full of cheer after his latest trip to the US. He also showed me some photos of Klaudia and Oskar in their school play on a WW1 theme, apparently the bit when the kids sang Silent Night, one half of them in English and the other German was very moving.
From there we went to Northern Lights, also known by us as the Twin Peaks bar. Its Lynchian credentials on show tonight with an ineptly run musician's open night upstairs. We watched a soulless blues guitarist, but when a mawkish pink-haired folk singer began keening Anton's will to live began to ebb rapidly away, and we made off. After an ill advised absolute bloody final drink I cabbed back to Osborne Road, where Lorraine and Betty were still up and chatting.
Out with Anton this evening. I caught the bus into town, and we bumped into each other on the street as I was getting beer tokens out of the cash machine. Then to spend them: off to a couple of pubs, The Seven Stars and The Black Lion. The pubs full of people on awkward office parties. We went to Zizzi's where we were thoughtfully given a romantic table for two. The pizza however marred by an excess of unnecessary mascarpone.
Anton full of cheer after his latest trip to the US. He also showed me some photos of Klaudia and Oskar in their school play on a WW1 theme, apparently the bit when the kids sang Silent Night, one half of them in English and the other German was very moving.
From there we went to Northern Lights, also known by us as the Twin Peaks bar. Its Lynchian credentials on show tonight with an ineptly run musician's open night upstairs. We watched a soulless blues guitarist, but when a mawkish pink-haired folk singer began keening Anton's will to live began to ebb rapidly away, and we made off. After an ill advised absolute bloody final drink I cabbed back to Osborne Road, where Lorraine and Betty were still up and chatting.
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