kimbofo

Paris Motel

We saw Paris Motel on Wednesday evening. They were the headline act on a four-band bill performing at Bush Hall on Shepherd's Bush busy Uxbridge Road.

I'd never been to Bush Hall before: what a revelation. It's a rather ornate dance hall, complete with chandeliers and beautiful cream paintwork, and the upstairs cocktail bar features rather comfortable red velvet armchairs that once you sink into you find rather difficult to leave.

The band was engaging and interesting -- string section and all -- with a lush sound befitting the surrounds. The only thing that spoiled it was the lead singer's inane giggly chatter between songs, but on the whole it was an impressive gig. And strangely, despite never having heard of this band before, I knew two songs, one of which I present for your amusement above. Enjoy.

Charlie Chaplin statue in Leicester Square

Place: Leicester Square, West End, London.
Date: Monday May 26, 2008.
Camera: Panasonic DMC-TZ3.

The weather last weekend was rather diabolical, even by London standards, although I'm not sure why I was so surprised: it was a Bank Holiday weekend after all.

On the Monday we headed into the West End, primarily to see a photographic exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, but later to see the new Indiana Jones film at the Odeon in Leicester Square. I may not believe in hell, but if I did it would have the look and feel of Leicester Square on a busy weekend: I loathe the place. But on Monday, with all the rain barelling down (the equivalent of a month's worth of rain in a day, if the news reports are to be believed), the area, normally bumper to bumper with dozy, go-slow tourists, was relatively empty. In between showers we were able to wander around and fully explore the green square and it is here we came upon this little statue of Charlie Chaplin.

The inscription beneath the statue reads "The comic genius who gave pleasure to so many". Altogether now, say "aaahhhh".

Lunch at the Rose & Crown

We spent a pleasant couple of hours at the Rose & Crown in South Ealing yesterday. It's one of those oh-so rare pubs that has a large beer garden, an impressive food menu and never seems particularly busy or crowded. It's tucked away in a quiet residential street, a little off the beaten track, which may partly explain why we have never had a problem securing a table or good service whenever we have visited.

We were first introduced to this pub by an old colleague of mine who used to live nearby. He has since moved to Berkshire, but we occasionally meet him here for a few drinks and a meal whenever he visits London. But yesterday it was simply T and I.

Catching the tube (a 10 minute journey on the Piccadilly Line) purely to visit a pub seems quite radical, if not downright flamboyant, as far as London pub etiquette goes, but we were desperate. In recent times we have decided that all our locals -- we have six or seven within walking distance -- leave a lot to be desired. Frankly, there is nowhere to go for a leisurely Saturday lunch that offers quality food, good service and a pleasant garden to sit in. Thank goodness, then, for the Rose & Crown, where we indulged in a shared BBQ platter (onion rings, chicken wings, chunky chips, stuffed jalapeno peppers) followed by wild boar sausages (for T) and a toasted Brie and Mediterranean vegetable sandwich (for me). It wasn't cheap, but it was worth every penny!

Putney, a shopping expedition to

Place: Putney Bridge, Putney, south London.
Date: October 15, 2007.
Camera: Panasonic DMC-TZ3.

I don't go to Putney very often, although it's just a short bike ride away from where I live and it's certainly within walking distance if you don't mind strolling along the Thames Path -- with elbows at the ready so that you can push all those other annoying Sunday strollers out of the way.

Today I went by tube. Sedate and easy, except for the annoying change at Earls Court and the long walk over Putney Bridge to the High Street.

It was just after noon when I arrived. There's a good mix of shops here -- the usual British High Street stores, such as WH Smith, Boots, M&S, Superdrug and the like -- plus a lot of eateries and pubs. I was surprised to come across a BHS (British Home Stores) outlet, because I haven't seen one of them since they closed the Kensington High Street branch about eight years ago. I went in and promptly walked out again: lots of el-cheapo "bland wear" that even an elderly granny would probably turn her nose up at.

There's a good shopping centre -- the Exchange -- on the western side of the street, and it was here I found the reason for my venture south of the river: a branch of Next. I had hoped to purchase a suit for work and possibly a pair of casual trousers, but the range on offer was fairly limited. Typically the sizing was all over the place: this must be the only store where it is possible for a woman to buy two pairs of trousers that are two completely different sizes (a 12 and a 16), and two tops that are completely different sizes as well (14 and 16). The company has obviously never heard of standardised measurements.

It hasn't heard of customer service either, if this afternoon's experience was anything to go by. I was overloaded with seven different items to try on*, only to be told there was a limit of four -- despite there being no sign to advise this -- and I'd have to put the excess items back on the shelf myself! I was flustered enough as it was, juggling various bags (I'd bought some hefty stationary from WH Smith) and wasn't feeling particularly well (my throat playing up again and my eyes still itchy and sore), so when the salesman made a barely audible mumble in my direction trying to enforce this ridiculous rule, I confess that I got a tad grouchy with him. In the end, he let me into the changing room with all seven items, but made me feel like he was doing me the world's biggest favour**.

Later I soothed my rage with a trip to the bookshop next door and didn't even feel remotely guilty about spending £30-odd on things I don't really need. I hate clothes shopping with a passion, but I could spend the rest of my life buying books. I think this is because books never make you feel like you're being ripped off by shoddy workmanship. And books never, ever, make you feel fat. They're good for the brain and good for the soul.

When I left it was close to 3pm. I bought a freshly squeezed juice at a juice bar near the exit and then headed to M&S across the road for a few bits and pieces to take home to eat, before making my way back to the tube station on the other side of the river.

I have to say that Putney Bridge tube station is one of the nicest tube stations in London. It's one of those stations that comprises an elevated platform far above the rooftops, so you get a great view over the suburbs. The entire station is neat and tidy, and all the timber awnings are painted a very pretty cream and sage green. It reminded me a lot of some of the train stations in Melbourne, probably because the architecture looks colonial.

I didn't have long to wait for a train and I was back in the door almost five hours after I'd left the house. Not bad for an unplanned shopping excursion.

* London retailers need to learn a thing or two from their New York counterparts. In the Big Apple sales assistants relieve you of you any item as soon as they see you walking around with it. They'll introduce themselves before putting the item aside for you to collect when you are ready to either try on or buy. This is a wonderful service that allows you to browse at leisure without any of your upper limbs falling off.

** I'd understand the limit if the store was busy, but there was no one in the queue behind me and at least two vacant cubicles ahead of me.

Dinner / tea / supper

The health kick continues with this evening's meal: an assortment of pre-made salads from M&S complemented by a handful of rocket leaves and half an avocado.

No fruit today, although I enjoyed a freshly made concoction of carrot, pineapple, mango and orange from a juice shop in Putney that cost me about half my weekly wages. It didn't taste particularly yummy -- far too much carrot for my liking -- but it immediately soothed my sore throat, which has been bugging me off and on for more than a week now.

Can only hope that the packet of Strepsils I've been munching since about 4pm will finally finish of this bloody annoying throat infection once and for all. I'm really sick of being sick.

Something fruity

After yet another upper respiratory tract infection, I've decided that I need to boost my fruit intake. I eat plenty of vegetables and enjoy at least one glass of juice a day, but I struggle to eat much fresh fruit. Apples and oranges bore me. By contrast, I love bananas but I'm fussy about them, they have to be just right, not too green, not too yellow and so I find it difficult to buy more than two or three at a time because they go "off" before I can eat them.

Today I made myself a delicious fruit salad comprising one firm but just-right banana, some organic strawberries, some pre-cut fresh pineapple (lazy, I know, but worth it to avoid all the hassle of "peeling" a pineapple and chopping up all the meat), a kiwi-fruit and a deliciously sweet passionfruit. The whole mix was absolutely scrummy, and left me feeling very saintly.

That feeling didn't last long though, because later in the afternoon I treated myself to a strawberry tart. So what if the custard-cream filling was highly calorific, the stuff on top counts as part of my fruit intake, right? (I wonder how far I can stretch this theory... )

Bring it on

I seem to be going through a Nick Cave phase right now. Bring It On is an oldie, but a goodie, and probably my favourite Cave song, helped in part by the magnificent vocals of Chris Bailey from The Saints. Not sure about all the girls wiggling their butts in it, but whatever floats your boat, right?

Saturday plans

I have the place to myself as T* has been kidnapped by four Australians in a grafitti-covered van, bound for the MotoGP in France.

Initially, I had planned to go to Oxford Street this morning to sort out two lots of passport photographs -- my Australian passport expires on May 20 and my British one follows suit next month -- but my eyes are still a little bloodshot from the conjunctivitis and I didn't fancy donning my spectacles** for the pictures. So I am at home, tossing up whether to brave my local Homebase to buy some plants for the front door (all current specimens, bar my lavender bush, are dead or close to dying) and collect a tile catalogue (for ensuing bathroom renovation) while I am at it. Or should I just laze around, catch up on some reading and watch my new boxed set of House (series 3)?

Decisions, decisions...

* I have never seen a four-star-and-above hotel man so excited by the prospect of camping in a field. I think it was the excuse to buy gadgets. He certainly amassed an impressive collection of wind-up battery-operated lights. Perhaps he's planning on doing a spot of interrogation while he's over there? (He's gonna kill me for writing this.)

** I wore my specs to work on Tuesday instead of my contact lenses. Most of my colleagues have never seen me wearing glasses before. The responses ranged from "hey, cool specs" to "wow, you look like a sexy office dominatrix with those". I have made a mental note to wear my specs in public more often.

Did anyone notice...

... that I changed the design of this blog again?

Can you tell I get bored very easily, very quickly?

No wonder I have so many job changes on my CV.

The Age of the Understatement

I never thought much of the Arctic Monkeys, but this new "spin-off" duo, known as The Last Shadow Puppets, is impressive, particularly if this single -- The Age of the Understatement -- is anything to go by. I love the retro-Sixties sound and look. And the lyrics are great too. Don't know who penned "She would throw a feather boa in the road..." but it's a wonderful line. Both chaps are just 22... You can find out more via the official website.