Budvar Sunday
I have spent the last hour drinking Budvar Dark with Ben and Chuck in the Clarence, a quite decent pub in Southern Balham. We’ve been chewing Oysters and reminiscing about the past, tales of madness and debauchery spanning a decade.
I had to skip a round, sneaking over to the internet Café across the road. Today is a Sunday (also a long weekend over here), a fine day for drinking – but also the 6th of March and thus needing a 6th update for “Shoddy Blog May-hem”.
I’ll make it a quick post, because I’m dieing for another drink and I’m wincing at the anecdotes I am currently missing out on.
After the last update, I was headed to Chuck’s house for a barbecue – but snuck into Foxton’s in Clapham Junction with Ben instead (and Dr V came along for something to do). Foxton’s is a real estate Agency in London, for a small fee they can find you an ideal home in your chosen suburb. (And by small, I mean exorbitant). The agent who greeted us was a half Chinese guy by the name of Stan, who had all of the bustling friendly energy usually reserved for Ecstasy addicts and Game Show Hosts. He had a few places to show us, which involved Ben, Dr V and myself piling into his Foxton’s Car and cruising around town. (A Foxton’s car is a Mini, which for some reason has a roof painted like a Racing Jockey’s vest).
Stan’s insistent social energy and banter made me feel like either hugging him, or punching him in the throat. I’m, still not sure. The places we walked through were decent, but out of our price range – and we soon parted ways in order for Ben and us to hit Chuck’s barbecue.
Chuck cooked up a fucking storm, so much food we ended up feeding some to the neighbour’s cat. We didn’t know the Cat’s name, and so (for reasons I don’t recall) called him “Shit-Blister”. Ben and I amused the other guests, as most of them were drinking wine – while we were on an 8.4% Chav Cider named “K” (hey, we’re homeless now and so might As well act like it).
The Barbie wrapped up at 7pm and we wandered down to the Balham Tup. We sat and watched a band, which consisted of two 40 year old men and a drum machine. The lead singer had Elvis side-burns, sang every song in an Elvis voice (interesting when they sang Radiohead’s “Creep”), yet disappointingly never sang an actual Elvis Presley song. They also did sound checks in the middle of songs, which was an interesting tactic. We watched the shiteful band until about 11:30pm, then headed home.
I slept on Chuck’s couch and woke up with severe leg cramps. We ate a hearty breakfast, then hit the Clarence. A few rounds, I left for the internet Café, finished this Post, and we are now up to date.
See you fuckers tomorrow.
I had to skip a round, sneaking over to the internet Café across the road. Today is a Sunday (also a long weekend over here), a fine day for drinking – but also the 6th of March and thus needing a 6th update for “Shoddy Blog May-hem”.
I’ll make it a quick post, because I’m dieing for another drink and I’m wincing at the anecdotes I am currently missing out on.
After the last update, I was headed to Chuck’s house for a barbecue – but snuck into Foxton’s in Clapham Junction with Ben instead (and Dr V came along for something to do). Foxton’s is a real estate Agency in London, for a small fee they can find you an ideal home in your chosen suburb. (And by small, I mean exorbitant). The agent who greeted us was a half Chinese guy by the name of Stan, who had all of the bustling friendly energy usually reserved for Ecstasy addicts and Game Show Hosts. He had a few places to show us, which involved Ben, Dr V and myself piling into his Foxton’s Car and cruising around town. (A Foxton’s car is a Mini, which for some reason has a roof painted like a Racing Jockey’s vest).
Stan’s insistent social energy and banter made me feel like either hugging him, or punching him in the throat. I’m, still not sure. The places we walked through were decent, but out of our price range – and we soon parted ways in order for Ben and us to hit Chuck’s barbecue.
Chuck cooked up a fucking storm, so much food we ended up feeding some to the neighbour’s cat. We didn’t know the Cat’s name, and so (for reasons I don’t recall) called him “Shit-Blister”. Ben and I amused the other guests, as most of them were drinking wine – while we were on an 8.4% Chav Cider named “K” (hey, we’re homeless now and so might As well act like it).
The Barbie wrapped up at 7pm and we wandered down to the Balham Tup. We sat and watched a band, which consisted of two 40 year old men and a drum machine. The lead singer had Elvis side-burns, sang every song in an Elvis voice (interesting when they sang Radiohead’s “Creep”), yet disappointingly never sang an actual Elvis Presley song. They also did sound checks in the middle of songs, which was an interesting tactic. We watched the shiteful band until about 11:30pm, then headed home.
I slept on Chuck’s couch and woke up with severe leg cramps. We ate a hearty breakfast, then hit the Clarence. A few rounds, I left for the internet Café, finished this Post, and we are now up to date.
See you fuckers tomorrow.
posted by Beef at Monday, May 07, 2007
3 Comments:
WTF does "chewing oysters" involve.
The mental images conjured up are quite repulsive.
Do you have a chest infection?
wish i was in london with you guys.
Chewing oysters - anything to do with the old euphemism - eating oysters without cutlery?
Speaking of carpet - ever try a carpet-bag. Not nearly as dusty as it sounds, except for that one time - just ask Slippery Sam.
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