OTTOLEGHI

One of my girlfriends went into Ottoleghi off Kensington Church Street today to buy her lunch. Peaches and speck with orange blossom, figs with pecorino and honey, crushed new potatoes with horseradish and sorrel, Jerusalem artichokes with lemon and sage... as she ordered a couple of their delicious orange and pistachio biscotti to dunk in her afternoon tea, Jason Orange from Take That walked in... star struck she stood aside to listen out for what a super star has for lunch on a Monday... 'HiyaLuv' he said to the girl behind the meringues...'You got anything I can take home and microwave?'
Very disappointing Jason.. You can take the lad out of the north but you can't take the north out of the lad.

London Marathon

I have never been to watch a marathon before, and today was no different. I like running them, but the thought of scanning 35,000 people to try and catch a glimpse of Gordon Ramsay just doesn't appeal. Instead, in homage to the great race, I entered my first cross country run in Hampshire. 3 stiles, a ford, and a dairy farm later I finished just behind an old man (pictured). I ran the 11K in 57 minutes which was OK but I had a few issues with my walkman, wearing too many layers and nearly choking on a jelly baby.
When I got home I relaxed with a tea and a copy of The Sunday Times Rich List to discover that a guy I had relations with is on the Young Millionaires list. He shares 20th place, squeezed between Cheryl Cole and Katie Melua. The earth didn't exactly move between us, but perhaps if he had been squeezed next to someone like the artist know as Prince and his 250 millions I would have made the house quake myself.

TOP GEAR

I just went to the Harvest petrol station on Goldhawk Road (not to be confused with The Harvester restaurant please) to jet wash my dusty old car. In front of me, in his Ferrari, was the guy from Top Gear, not the main guy and not the one that nearly died and is small, but the other one. Why would you jet wash if you had a Ferrari? Wouldn't you be valet all the way? Anyway I watched (and snapped) him as he washed. He must have bought the cheap foam brush and rinse program for £2 but he only used the rinse bit. I don't think I would really want to use a scuzzy old foaming broom on my Ferrari either. He put down the rinse rod and started to walk towards me..... Oh no, had he seen me snapping him with my camera? As he came to my car door, I was too nervous to undo my window as I knew I would press the electric roof button by mistake and make a fool of myself, so I opened my door instead. 'Just wanted to let you know that the machine is making some very strange noises and the pressure keeps coming and going, I think there is something wrong with it, but you might be OK.' said Mr Top Gear. I looked at him and thought, you're actually quite cute in real life. 'Have you finished already'? I replied. Why didn't I say something flirty like 'You couldn't help me put the coin in the slot could you'? You always think of these things too late (luckily, in my case)... Anyway after a good scrub I came home, googled 'man from top gear' and up he came, JAMES MAY. Does anyone know him? Is 47 too old?

ELECTRICS OFF

Something has happened to the upstairs at The Electric, its like someone has forgotten to top up the electric key and all the lights have gone out.
I went there last night for a Whiskey Sour and my drink was the only good thing about it. The glace cherry floating on top was the most stylish thing about the night, and, keeping it fruity, the only electric current I could feel was in the whiskey. A blond monstrosity with a spray tan that made her leather jacket look soft came up to the bar and stood next to me. She asked for a Martini. 'What kind, Vodka or Gin?' said the barman. 'Yes please', was the reply. 'No, Vodka OR Gin Martini?' said the bar man. 'Oh let me go and ask my mate.'...and off she fake boob bounced... 'Crystal, a vodka or a gin martini? she squawked. 'What?' said Crystal, 'Oh, make it a rum and coke then.'
A right couple of dirty martini's they were.... and she held her knife like a pen when she was eating..... I was so disappointed with my night I had to come home and have a roll up, dark times!

Amber Stephens

I have been meaning to write this vignette (or will try to keep it vignette) as a way of venting my agro tale of Amber-gate. My friend that's a boy texted me soon after new year, writing just 2 words AMBER STEPHENS.... He must have sent this by accident, I thought. I called him, to be met with a very hostile and defensive tone. 'Tell me what you know about Amber Stephens?' he fired. 'Nothing, never heard of her'... Many heated minutes later and he simply would not not let it lie, convinced that I knew something about this mysterious name AMBER STEPHENS.
I eventually got off the phone, telling him that if he wanted to fall out over this, then so be it. I DON'T, DIDN'T, DO NOT KNOW WHO AMBER STEPHENS is, was, or who she would eventually turn out to be. I immediately Facebook'd, bebo'd,linkedin'd, twitter'd and bitter'd... and all I got was Amber Stephens author of 'The Secret Diary of a Sex Addict'. The plot thickened.
Weeks later, my friend that's a boy was still convinced that I was behind Ambergate.....
He finally divulged that Amber was a girl on a dating website that had been messaging him. She told him that she had great pins (with photos to prove) and that she wanted to be tied up with those plastic tie things (the ones you use to trellis your roses), be locked in the back of a van and kidnapped. Not sure what this says about me, but MFTABoy was convinced that it was me, Charrington alias Stephens....
I made him send a message to the adventurous Amber while we were together in the hope that she would reply and he would finally believe that I was not, am not, could not be, Amber Stephens..... I said he could tie me up with plastic ties just to make doubly sure that I couldn't sneak upstairs and email from another computer.... anyway she never replied to his email asking her 'What books do you like reading?' Quelle surprise yawn yawn.... So perhaps I will always remain Alias Amber in his eyes.

Chapati

Occasionally I have lunch in The Central Gudwara (Sikh Temple) near me. It is like stepping into India for an hour. With shoes off and Pashmina on, I just turn up, bow to the Guru Grath Sahib, make a donation, and then take a Thali tray and eat delicious curry and rice on the floor. The lovely curry making ladies of Punjab are always asking me to come in on a Sunday night and help prepare the Chapati... so last night I finally did. I had a go at every Chapati making station although I was mainly left to slather butter on them once cooked. I told them that I was being quite stingy with the butter as I didn't want anyone to get fat. Mahtab (meaning moonlight) said that was OK and that everyone is bery bery healthy conscious these days.

Cock Block

I was meant to be going out in East London last night but my East partners blew me out, so ended up having the most delicious pint of prawns and even more taste sensational red mullet risotto with gremolata (chopped rosemary, garlic and lemon zest) at my usual.
I was talking to a friend of a friend about the lack of chatting up that goes on at The Anglesea, when he told me something very interesting. He said there is a curse on pulling at the pub, it's called 'Cock Block'. This is absolutely terrible I thought, I must break the curse, unblock the cock as it were. I had had some eye love with a handsome looking guy in a preppy cashmere jumper on the table next to us so thought I would make it my nights work to at least talk to him.
He went out to use his phone, so I took the opportunity... grabbed my phone to my ear... went outside, and pretended to have a phone conversation and catch his eye. Then, (it pains me to tell you) my phone rang. THE END.