Sunday, February 18, 2007

A tale of two potatoes

The night before - top song!

So that's what I'm listening to right now, waiting for my pizza to cook and looking back on the day.

Now it's Do it now by Mos Def. Once again, party shuffle picks a winner.

Feck! Paper cut.

Potato number one is a delightful thing which I see every now and then on the 55 bus route. Somebody paints potatoes, sticks cocktail sticks, cotton bud sticks and pencils in them, and throws them on top of bus shelters. Both Londonist and Dave Gorman (the photo's his as the bus moved off too quickly for me to take one.) are fans too, and I saw them regularly on my way back from lectures at Birkbeck when I did that sort of thing.

I think I might be in love with whoever puts them up there. I'm pretty sure she's Japanese. And I'm also pretty sure she's a she. If not, I shall have to carefully consider my lifestyle choices. Start snorting poppers... anal sex... that sort of thing. Maybe some crystal meth (listen).

Potato number two should really be potato number one. And it's also really a pheasant. Allow me to explain:

Matt and Giles and Broadgate TowerToday I went on a skyscraper hunt, and for the first time I had company. Earlier this week Matt asked me if I was around to meet up* for a drink this weekend. I suggested he join me on a skyscraper sojourn, and I was surprised to get a text yesterday to say he was coming down to join me on my quest.

So I met him at Liverpool Street, and Giles, his old school friend, came too. I won't say too much about the expedition tonight, other than that I think I should make a habit of inviting people along. Possibly not every time, but certainly once in a while. Two heads are better than one.

Anyway, eventually we ended up heading up the west end, partially to see if we could catch the Chinese New Year bash, and partially to find a pub. Most pubs were surprisingly closed. Eventually found one called the Hand and Racquet, which I shall definitely revisit. It's ideally suited for chess tournaments, being as it has lots of two person alcoves. Friendly bar staff.

For extra entertainment, watch the car park over the road. Its amazing how many idiots can't manouvre themselves in or out of there without making a right balls up.

Giles told a very funny story which I shall recount:

He saw a family of tourists race to catch a bus... one of the old routemasters. The father and boy climbed on, but the wife and girl lagged behind, which was just as well as it was the wrong route. The wife shouted for them to jump off, just as the bus started to move off. The boy leapt off as it reached about 10 mph, narrowly avoiding falling over. No doubt coyed by this near miss, the father hesitated. As the wife kept on shouting/gesturing at him to disembark he eventually - now that the bus was doing closer to 30 - decided to halt his journey. But instead of jumping, or trying to hit the ground running, he literally stepped off the bus and got whipped head over heels onto the pavement.


That's what came out of my mouth - very loudly - at the outdoor tables outside Cafe Nero on the Strand.


He does tell a good anecdote, does Giles.

Later on that evening I tried nodding at passers by as they passed the pub window, with little to no response.

And the potato/pheasant??? I was going to cook a roast when I got in, but reckoned without the pub and coffee and anecdotes. Hence pizza.

Once, possibly on Room 101, Stephen Fry questioned the use of the phrase "meet up", pointing out that you could substitute "meet" in its place, and that the "up" is superfluous. This, I feel, is one of the few occasions when Stephen Fry has been wrong. Meeting can be random, coincidence. Meeting up has to be planned. That is all.

1 comment:

Jenny said...

I don't like a world in which Stephen Fry can be wrong, but I have to admit the validity of your argument in this case.

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