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.

Yoga

There was a girl handing out leaflets at Shepherds Bush tube station the other day. Normally I swerve anyone offering free calls to Kazakhstan, paint ball bargains from a camouflaged trestle table, or 'Can I ask you a question about your hair' people. The girl was offering a free yoga session, so, in the name of the blog, I took it and had my free session tonight.
The yoga centre was on Uxbridge Road, on the top floor, above a Caribbean fast food restaurant. The room was about the same size as my bedroom i.e. big enough for a double bed and a few nicknack's. There were 7 yoga mats, 5 women, 1 German teacher and me.... The music consisted of a small speaker floating out a female voice singing a 'smooth jazz' version of Bob Marley hits.... There was less of a 'natural mystic flowing through the air', and more of a curry goat and roti .
The lesson was actually quite fun, but the Yogi did say 'its not a competition' at one point when everyone was relaxing in child's pose and I was silently counting myself down from a 2 minute plank that I set myself.... Now that I know it's possible to practice Yoga in a room the size of a postage stamp I think I will just do it in my bedroom from now on, and then I can salute the sun shining out of my competitive arse as much as I like.

Christ I'm An Idol

I was out for dinner with some pals last night when we came up with an idea for a religious reality TV show. The show would be called "CHRIST I'M AN IDOL"and the 3 judges would consist of Doubting Thomas, The Arch Bishop of Canterbury and Cliff Richard.
Everyone would get an opportunity to be resurrected if they had a Baptism of Fire and got voted off in the first round.
The follow up series would be called I'M AN ALTER BOY GET ME OUT OF HERE! Or we have working titles - IM AN ALTER BOY GET IT OUT OF ME.... and BRITONS GOT TOLERANCE. Hopefully the Sunday Times would do a nice peace on us although I must give most of the credit to 'my pals' for this show, if it takes off, as I was too busy with the spirits.

WAPPING GREAT DAY OUT

I cycled to WAPPING today to visit the most brilliant art gallery/restaurant The Wapping Project. It is absolutely the coolest place.. this outfit however, that I witnessed somewhere between London and Tower Bridges, is not.

MAN AT THE BAR

I went to my most delicious and nutritious favourite pub last night and was recognised by a guy at the bar who knew my name. I (w)racked my brain as to where on earth I might know him from.. had we snogged? or worse, shagged? If so, I couldn't remember it.. which is strange because I usually never forget a face (especially if I've sat on it). JOKE!
Anyway, he reminded me that we had met at the pub last summer... that I hadn't come in through the conventional route of a door, but had done an extreme gate vault over the wall. 'Ah yes' I said, 'I was wearing my short shorts and we talked about where you should go on holiday'. 'I don't remember what you were wearing' he said...WRONG Answer.... how could he forget these pins, does he not realise I'm an athlete? Anyway he was wearing a Rolex Explorer, I'm a sucker for a man in a nice watch. I asked if I could try it on and I fell in love.. with the watch obviously.... his girlfriend was sitting next to him all this time looking extremely tick tocked off, with a watch face like thunder. Opps.

Brazilians

If you can imagine a piece of red hot coal touching your skin, that is what it feels like to experience laser. Every red hot flash lasts a split second, but its a very very hot split second. I had my third treatment on my bikini line last night, and never need to wax, shave, cream or pluck again! As much as I miss my Iranian wax-er and some of the crazy positions she would get me in, I doubt she misses my foot smudged marks on her white walls and ceiling...
I thought there would be nothing nicer than being permanently well groomed, but now I am not sure. Whether single, sexual or in winter hibernation I thought it would be great to strip and let rip at any given moment . But its a bit like a tattoo.. its too permanent, too forever-y. What will a well groomed flangetta look like when I am 60? What if the fashion changes and the 70s bush comes back in... I'm plUCKED!! You can have a tattoo removed but this part of the Brazilian rain forest has been lost forever.

The Electric

I went to the Electric on Thursday night, to be met by girls in bunny outfits handing out chocolate vodka. All the tables had been pushed back and everyone was rocking out to some amazing old school tunes... A girl next to me at the bar ordered a Long Island Ice Tea...and the barman looked at her as though she had ordered a Sloe Comfortable Screw Against The Wall....and told her 'I'm afraid we don't make those'... I miss all those 80s cocktail names and tried to order a Slippery Nipple but got the same reaction. Bore off with Espresso Martini and Bellini we want Sex On The Beach again. Anyway I got talking to a friend of a friend, a boy called John.. turns out he is running the Berlin Marathon in September 'Me too' I said.. and we had geeky drunken chats while dancing for ages. I didn't fancy him at all, he had a Hollister t shirt on and an England sweat band around his wrist...Anyway as we were getting our coats to leave he gave me his number, insisting we should get together in Soho House Berlin 'darling'...Anyway unbeknown to me his girlfriend was absolutely screwing, like not sloe comfortable screwing but... literally stop talking to my boyfriend screwing... I told her to calm down and that me and her bloke were having innocent running chats... No Screaming Orgasms for him that night!

NOT swimming The Channel

I have had a fascination with swimming the Channel for about a year now. Its 21 miles, as the crow flies, and the average time it takes is between 10 - 20 hours. It took David Walliams 10 hours 34 minutes.. and 1 more Wiki fact.. less than 1000 people have ever completed it! There is no doubt that I would do it but for my terrifying fear of the sea, slight obstacle....When I am in the sea I have to be able to touch the ground, and any passing seaweed or dark patches of water send me into silent screaming. I've thought about hypnosis, but it will be a waste of 'going under', I get the fear that a shark is on my tail when I'm swimming lengths in a kidney shaped pool. I recently read about a guy called Dan Martin who is about to embark on a Global Triathlon, which includes swimming the Atlantic. Setting off from Nova Scotia with nothing more than his speedos, ginger beard and goggles he is going to swim 8 hours a day for about 4 months until he reaches France. He is going to wear a shark repellent anklet and won't be swimming at dawn or dusk (shark feeding time)...I don't know if Portuguese Man-of-War can kill you but now I've just seen a picture of one I know they will be joining me in the pool next time too. I'm such a WEED!

Paloma Faith

I went to see Paloma Faith play at Shepherds Bush Empire on Wednesday night. We had an OK dinner at the Princes Victoria Pub on Uxbridge Road, great building, great wine list but the prawns were all head and no body...more shrunk than shrimp. I arrived at the gig a little hungry and desperate for a pee after filling up on fizzy water. Waiting in the queue, the Paloma Faithfuls were all dressed up and very over excited to see their glamorous idol. The Faithfuls in front of me were chatting away about their favourite songs,the 5 star reviews and what she might be wearing. If their specialised subject on Master Mind was Paloma Faith, these guys would score seriously high, but the general knowledge round however.... 'Have you heard of that band The Cure?'said Faithful 1. 'No' said Faithful 2. 'Oh they were this band, like from years ago, the bloke in it, he had like mad hair and stuff and lip stick... I only know him coz I've got like really old brothers'. Boys Don't Cry but I sure felt like it.