No more uninteresting stories about hospital drama!

Who cares? No one is dying (well we all are TECHINCALLY dying but still…) Onto the fun stuff.

Here are some cool nights out and fun places to go:

December 2006:
Club Movida: T and I meet Michelle, her friend Andressa (another Brazilian model), her boyfriend of the week-cute UBS Swiss banker-his equally cute friends and others at Club Movida near Oxford circus. This was the infamous place for Jay-Z and Beyonce’s party back in the fall that we almost made it into…regardless, it was Andressa’s birthday so we went for dinner and then dancing. Hot Banker Boyfriend has hot French and Luxemborg friends but they quickly ditched us for more faux amies and we never saw them again. Ah, C’est La Vie! Now Club Movida gets written up as being quite posh but here’s the situation: balding middle-aged Middle Eastern or Russian businessmen flash around some cash and bottle sparkler-lit bottles of Champagne to entice the cheap skanky 20 something girls over to their table. We were invited but left after 1.2 minutes when it became clear that the other girls at the table had never even heard of a library or panties. I got a tad overserved and actually spent 18 pounds for a single glass of wine (I darn well had better been a bit tipsy to pay that much) Thankfully, I’ve learned that when the cash runs out, go home! Danced off some more wine then hopped in a cab home. But shock and Awe! T had skipped out earlier and I was pretty much left to my own devices. Now NORMALLY this would lead to a melt down and sheer panic at the thought of standing at a bar or dancing alone in a crowd, but Monsieur Chardonnay and I became close friends and suddenly everyone became much friendlier….I give it 2.5 stars, it was not Pasha but a fun crowd that we went with!

Cute Hotel In SoHo: T’s brother works for a movie company, Matchstick Productions, and they produced extreme skiing and other sport films. They had teamed up with Helly Hansen and had a movie premiere of their latest production in London! T’s brother got us on the list and we were to speak with “Raoul” at the door (I couldn’t remember his exact name but it was Raoul or Pavel or something tough and bouncerey). Imagine our surprise when we show up to a classy joint and “Raoul” the Bouncer is a 5’7 130 lb. bouncy little Englishman in a bright red sweater. It was like expecting the Hulk and meeting Tiny Tim. But he had a list and we proceeded to watch a really, REALLY cool skiing movie whilst splitting some Jack Daniels and Coke (it had been a long week). A little reception followed where SOME people had that extra glass of wine and got super-friendly with the locals (this was NOT me by the way and there were several people in our party but I’ll leave it at that!) but it was pretty low-key. Thanks James for the invite! I must pause to add that I speak with James quite frequently. Whenever we go out someplace cool T must share the love and therefore everyone now knows James. He is apparently due for a visit in April. Interesting….

Bar Not to Be Named: We went to an after-party at some pretty heinous places like club SoHo or Bar SoHo and a few others that were totally MTV tourist traps. Sketchy persons abounded.

The Elk: Fulham Broadway – Crowded, tends to play the exact same bad 80s music every single weekend. BUT it’s near home and the occasional fun people go there. Wait, this is EXACTLY how one could describe the DC prep bar scene….hmmmm maybe I didn’t move at all…..

Ice Skating!!!!!!! One of G’s friends got a house and had a housewarming. Only having met these people while in fancy dress (that would be Halloween costumes) I had some initial trouble reconnecting with former ghouls and vampires but everyone managed. After a light supper we headed out to South Kensington to go ice skating! I love to skate. Really, any sport out doors will do but ice skating is fun. Katarina Witt doesn’t want her moves back but I rarely fall unless pushed. G was not so lucky; an 85 lb. woman took him down with remarkable ease. To his credit she had initially almost hit a kid and he trying to be a gentleman. Southern manners will sometimes bite you in the ass! Now I hate to Stereotype-ok I really love it but it can so limit one’s grasp of the world-but Europeans just have their own method of exercising. It’s a parade of fashion, fashion mistakes, or the plain odd. Black socks with Pumas at the gym. Fashion outfits and denim skirts for ice skating. Because this was a night-time event, teens were on dates, lovers held hands and strands of girls refused to de-link at the expense of other skaters. I heard loads of Americans, easily identified by their North Face and baseball caps, but the euros have OUTFITS. One poor girl had opted to continue the cuffed short trend of the summer and added tights to the ensemble to presumably keep from freezing. Had these not been khaki summer shorts I might not have sniggered but paired with hose, a sweater, mittens and scarf-you asked for it dear. I can’t describe it. Come to Europe-there’s a different vibe. I will pause a brief second and mention the skates. Ouch Ouch Ouch. They clamped on like ski boots and were about as sharp as Bush’s retorts (and that’s from a sort of right tilter, depending…) But oh to be outdoors and not walking or running but moving about! Ahhhhhhhh

January 2007:
Aragon: Parson’s Green – For Michelle’s birthday we met her and friends at another friend’s engagement party (no clue who they were) at this awesome little bar/lounge. It’s like the stereotypical upscale-comfy place. Sort of like how Modern Perk is totally believable and everyone hangs out there for hours on end and no one ever sits on the orange couch. I digress. Wine was fairly cheap by the glass and pretty damn good. They have a food menu that sounds really tasty and much like their neighbor across the park, The White Horse, they have barbeques on Sunday afternoons in the summer. There were super-comfy couches and little cluster of tables, French bistro style-but there was no ‘list’ or reservations needed. Downstairs was a bit more of a ‘beir garten’ feel with more cigarette smoke, long sodden tables and benches and more beers on draft but still fun. We met and hung out with a bunch of Aussies, including one who had both eyes on T and was a doctor, we think. We went from there to Vin Rouge to the Elk and finally home! 8-10 pound mini cabs.
Hummus Brothers – I must pause and mention this little restaurant in SoHo. It’s a hummus bar but they have the best Greek salad ever (mostly cukes and tomatoes with some zesty dressing) but there are six different styles of hummus with white or really yummy brown bread (not exactly pitas or flat bread-in between?). Ed and I went in the pouring rain for dinner one night and we sat there so long we eventually received a complimentary dessert (some kind middle eastern flan-ish thing with a tiny drizzle of date syrup) and limitless hot water over mint leaves. Okay, so Ed maybe wasn’t quite as into the not water thing I soaked it up. They guys were really nice and it was definitely worth visitng. Plus they have ALOE VERA juice!!!!!! Oh it was soooo good-and the entire meal for two with salads and 2 mains with two juices was like 16 pounds on a Saturday night. Who can beat that??? I’m thinking there is a world of vegetarian I’m missing-must explore….

Now the Queen is in town. And by that I mean D’s emissary in the form of G’s mama. Catch all that? Miz Mary has come to town and brought my mail (and a pair of old sweats that I left) with her. Between her and Dede I was having quite the good week (despite obvious evidence mothers feel compelled to feed you actual food not from Pret or Tesco). She came for a week to see G’s flat and tour around London before Dr. Scott flew in to join her for a few days. It always makes me miss my parents to see other people’s parents but these four (with Cap’n Miles) are pretty good substitutes.

Joe’s: Great little lunch café Dede has taken me to before in South Kens right across the street from Joseph (hence the name-very clever). I love that area because there are just loads of cute shops and one can always wander up to Harrods.

Beach Blanket Babylon: Now I had heard about this place from G before and had wanted to venture over to Notting Hill and see if it was cool so when the invite was issued for dinner I hopped right on over. The inside of this place is like a treasure trove. It’s almost so random it’s too odd but somehow it works. It’s tucked on a spiffy little street off of Notting Hill Gate and while the exterior makes you think charming café the initial bar is more sleek Euro chic. A 9 pound glass of pinot later and I was the only person at the bar. Now, for all those restaurant designers out there I must say this: Having the bar right at the entrance is fine and dandy but when there are only five tables for 1.5 people and when the only side on which to stand makes you face backwards to the street, being the only person at the bar can feel a bit awkward. For AoY, make that 10,000% uncomfortable and antsy. Social anxiety strikes again! Luckily G & Co. (Skye also came-she’s a friend from Halloween/Ice Skating and super-nice) and we literally went into the bowels of the restaurant. I tried to sleuth and walk and from what I could see, there are little separate nooks and crannies for the VIP (or previously book large parties) next to Dada style fire places. Curio cabinets are stuffed with vintage jewelry, masks, and there are tons of harlequin colors and even a Byzantine-style mural with glass and filigree. Again, this sounds over the top but the restaurant is actually quite dark so it isn’t too much. We walked over a ‘plank’ with chain handles (seriously, it was two pieces of varnished wood between us and the next level and then down again. Villa Troncos? Anyone ever been there? The meal was beyond fantastic, if a bit slowly served by those not speaking much English, but it was a neat evening with lively conversation.

Jumeirah: Really chic hotel where Dede and I met for drinks. I bring up this evening only because it was the last night of the playoffs that decided whether or not the Colts would be in at the SuperBowl. Now, being so far from NFL action and not having Sky or a burning design to inhale cigarettes for four hours every Monday I’ve kind of missed the loop on pro sports this year. T and I were surprised when we saw the World Series being televised (okay, well that sucked so bad example). My point is that I had just BRIEFLY skimmed an article that morning about the history being made of 2 black coaches going to the Super Bowl. My thought: Who are the Bears and I really don’t like the Colts (Peyton Manning went to UT; they wear orange and some of my family went to Vanderbilt and I’m from SC; convoluted enough said). But I just figured it was old news and went to class. I’m not exactly sure why but the Miles’ had taped the game and knew absolutely nothing about it and had deliberately remained ignorant until they could watch it (Mr. Bill is quite the Colts fan-Peyton married a cute girl from his hometown-it’s just a Southern thing yall; deal). So we met for drinks until dinner, which ended up being takeaway at the local pub on Sloane and then I watched my first US football in FAR TOO LONG at their flat. I do feel a bit sorry for Mr. Miles because I’m sure all he wanted was some testosterone or a muzzle as Dede and I felt compelled to make the necessary comments from time to time (even if they weren’t about football). But the hotel was beautiful seemed like a great place to meet and greet sultans.

The George and Beyond! Lord was this a big night out. It’s worthy of it’s own entry but my parents might start wondering when exactly I go to class or work if everything is divulged :)
The George Bar: There is a private club in London, very swishy, called Anabel’s and the same guy owns another private club called The George in Mayfair. As it was more of a business dinner than social I met up with assorted surrogate parents, G, another friend from St. Andrews Ali and some of his friends. All had girlfriends and the few girls that did pass through the George that evening (at the risk of sounding like as ass, what 22 or 23 year old just GOES to the George-I wait until someone else appropriately takes me-yup, sounding like an ass) were absolutely stick-thin tres chic. SOME people had failed to mention this was a party dress event but thank God black pants never go out of style I guess, even if they are horribly boring…Anyway, I discover that Dr. Scott, when not saving lives and being brilliant, is even more brilliant and reads the same books D&D and Spence and I all pass back and forth amongst each other. If I didn’t already love the guy, bibliophilia does it! But lord, I can barely find time to read when I work and he’s a surgeon! Can’t imagine. So our slightly loud group partied on until they made the GRAVE mistake of shutting down the bar at the ridiculously early hour of eleven or so. The parents went home, me and one other girl journeyed on to the beginning of a long fun evening…

Kitt’s: Sloane Square – Thankfully one of our party was on the list so we didn’t have to queue for this very small underground club in Sloane Square. I’m sure it’s lovely but it did seem to be a bit packed with (and since the Brit word I REALLY want to use might offend tender ears) posers, albeit probably posers with money, it was smash in and fight to the bar. Keep in mind that everyone else was probably 5,6,7 drinks ahead of me (I had to finish a job app and didn’t arrive until 10ish) so I quickly tried to catch up, tried being the operative word. After some inventive wiggling and a few nudges I maneuvered up to the bar and waited. And Waited. And waited some more. I had owed G a drink but whilst waiting started chatting up a very attractive Scotsman from Edinburgh named Jason. While his rugged good looks might have appealed he was standing next to the biggest bunch of (I really hate that I’m keeping this pseudo PG-13) ‘loud obnoxious drunkards’ which ruined a bit of the appeal. I’m sure G coming up and giving me a friendly hug did not spur our tender romance although he seemed quite impressed with my ability to order three drinks at once (it’s a skill). Leaving Jason to the bar we soon left and went on to door Number 2.

Mamalanji: A favorite of the rich/upwardly mobile/chavvy or just interested, I went to this club back in the fall (with the two involved men who spent all night convincing us that their girlfriends wouldn’t mind) and really liked it. The bar is good, music good and the people actually danced. We didn’t have to wait long but things got a TAD spoiled when a few of the guys (we were split into 2 groups) got a little pissed over actually paying cover (I confess 3 drinks and I suddenly don’t mind covers but scream like hell if I’m sober) and then one made a bit of an unfortunate remark to the clearly homosexual money taker. This netted everyone the boot although I did get my money back. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been bounced by association. Moving right along…

151: Down the street is a dive bar popular with those native and posh to London. When I walked in I got hit with a very, very strange sense of déjà vu. It’s cavernous and filled with booths and dark corners and a bar and then it hit me…2005 London trip with Melissa, Pete and Dmitry and Pete (or Ben’s) friend. We got absolutely smashed on absinthe and came here before stumbling back to the friend’s place. Again, it’s not like these are on sequential evenings people!!!!!!!! Well, the clientele gets a bitch sketchy at 151 and it certainly helped to have five or so strapping lads ready to defend your honor from bar lizards. We stayed till closing before making a few quick stops that needn’t be mentioned and ending up back at D’s (friend of Ali’s) place. Since he is thankfully neither a serial killer nor homeless, Kate (the other lone girl) and I kicked D’s houseguest from the sofa bed and called it a night after making the boys an omelet. It was around 5 AM I believe. I found that the beauty of starting very late that night was that I just didn’t drink that much and remembered everything.

Oh, it turns out that D lives right behind Holy Trinity Brompton in South Kensington so it was thankfully a blessedly short tube ride home! Fun times were had but I can honestly say that the lifestyle of a jet setter would kill me.

General insanity ensues and the exploration of British life continues. Cheers!