Random London Sunday

Here's a few photos from our random London Sunday. Click to enlarge the pictures, you can actually get drunk from licking the screen in some of the later snaps.

Is this a photo of Farmland swept by Bush Fires? Nope, it's Clapham Common one of London's many illustrious and beautiful parks. What many find hard to believe (taking into account the infamously grey drizzly shitful weather) is that the United Kingdom is suffering a water shortage. So as anyone who caught the British Open last month on TV could see, the hose pipe ban has left the usually lush greens of England looking like dried out yellow crap-fields.

I was in Clapham Common to watch the Wandsworth Demons play the Ealing Emus. They refer to the Common as "The House of Pain" because the bastard park is as hard as concrete. Many a player has dented his body landing on the cement-like field, Even more so now that the plush surface has been replaced with hardened dead grass. The Demons had a good win (won by 25 goals FUCK), after-game drinks were had at the Alexandra where the traditional drinking race was held. Play a game of sport to lose weight and keep fit, and closely follow that by buckets of sugar rich alcohol and kebabs - it's the Australian Way.

Jimmy, Sammy, and I left Clapham at about 7:30 to venture down to the Pitcher and Piano at Fulham where we were met by my other flat-mate Toby. We were having a few drinks at the bar when one of the guys pointed out a minor Australian celebrity. Blair McDonough, who first gained fame coming in second on the first Australian Big Brother and went on to star in the soap Neighbours for five years (By god, what a CV), was drinking and flirting with a few adoring female fans. He's in London for some play called The Vegemite Tales, and was bar hopping through Fulham because the suburb is full of drunk Australian women - and he was no doubt keen to knock the back out of a few Neighbours groupies.

I was pretty boozed up by this point, and thought it would be amusing to get a photo I could email back home to my sister in a "look who I met" capacity. I suffered the jeers of my fellow drinkers, who asked why I wanted to get my photo with an ex-Big Brother contestant and questioned my sexual orientation. In hindsight it was a pretty gay thing to do, but my mind was set.

I strolled over and I politely asked if I could get a quick photo with him. He declined (his exact words "Naah mate, I can't be faarked" - yes, that's a drunk aussie accent), and went on to suck the tongue out of some blonde booze hag. You ask Burt Reynolds for a photo you'll get one, but this Z-list celebrity knocked me back.

Fuck him. I took the photo anyway.

What a great composition and after I'd been denied permission too - I'm the king of paparazzi.

We dropped into the Slug and Lettuce (also in Fulham) to sample a few cold drinks, it was unusually quiet and there were only a handful of people in the place. Jimmy struck up a conversation with a blonde girl who was sitting with her friend:




I went to the bar to get another drink, and when I came back he was swing dancing with the energy of a young Patrick Swayze:

Quite a bold dance routine to perform with somebody you just met, Christ I thought they stopped this style shortly after the Roaring 20s. Definitely not the easiest of social maneouvers to pull off, as Sammy found out whilst dancing with the second girl. He swung the girl back and forth, and then up in the air, and then dropped her on her head. We helped the girl to her feet, she rubbed the back of her head, and then proceeded to passionately kiss her friend on the mouth. For at least ten seconds. I shit you not. As I was only armed with a shitty disposable camera with a flash that takes an eternity to charge up, I regretfully have no photographic evidence of this whole scene. You'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, here is a photo of Jimmy and Myself at the Slug:

Becuase it's nice to put a face to the names you read in my posts. Jimmy is on the left, he only has nine toe-nails. I'm on the right, I have all my toe-nails.

We got home at about 1AM and found ourselves sitting on the roof terrace (in a drunken stupor) feasting on the best pizza I've ever eaten. But then again, Cat food tastes like caviar when you're completely smashed. Toby and I sat on the roof:

While Jimmy provided the night's entertainment - reenacting his daring wall-jumping break in of our apartment that he had to perform six months ago when he lost his house-keys.

Thrilling Amateur Theatre, and the perfect way to end our London Sunday.