Find the Brits!
As mentioned previously, last week was for bar hopping and making new friends.
Saturday found just such an occasion. After a failed outing to the Churchill Arms, flatmates threw themselves into a taxi and ask to be taken to a fun bar opened past eleven somewhere in Kensington. Ended up at Art Bar and Bardo, where the crowd was eclectic Euro, the drinks were EXPENSIVE but free poured and the music finally good and techno. PLUS, we actually were allowed to cut in line and just enter Bardo on the basis of being cute girls needed to break up the sausage fest inside. At the last bar we randomly run into, well let’s just call them Greg and Matthew. Two Brits recently arrived from a wedding at St. Paul’s, they were happily content with their girlfriends and just looking for some fun conversation. It was actually really fun. I found out that you never call a girl ‘spunky’ as this implies that she is actually full of…well let’s just say she gets around quite a bit shall we? Greg was very nice, not college graduated, but loving his job on a loading dock and being back in England. Matthew was very impressed with his Eton education, his family’s name and money (which in the sake of being a rebel he fled to Australia for 6 years to find himself), which is among the oldest in London, has his own business in Canary Wharf, and likes to sail, ride, shoot etc. Can we say ‘TRYING TO IMPRESS!!!!’ But they were great fun and ended up taking T and I to a club in Chelsea called Malanji. Now two things happened here-A) We walked to Chelsea from Kensington, which is quite a hike. B) Matthew’s girlfriend suddenly appeared to drop off the map the further into his cups he got. After haggling to get us in free, it soon became very cler that one of us was to leave with Matthew and thank him profusely in ways that are most likely still illegal in Alabama. Girlfriend? Was she Swedish or Scottish? It kept changing.

T and I ignored the increasingly familiar hands and just danced the early morning away. When “Sweet Home Alabama” came on, you can guess the predicted results from AoY. Since flatmates were the only bar in the club who probably new every single word, nuance and inflection, we felt pretty cool. More great music and dancing, one failed attempt to pull AoY out the door into a waiting cab by Matthew, and we sent them on their merry way. Nice boys but unavailable. A quick twenty dollar cab ride home, a bowl of cereal and fun London night is over!