Soho cures everything
After my sad/crap day yesterday, I decided that today I needed to do something to make me happy again. I have this proposal hanging over my head and, though I knew I needed to go to the office to work on it, I also knew that I was at my joy minimum and it was imperative that I take action immediately. Fall below the joy minimum and there's serious hell to pay, boy-o. Spiraling depression, lethargy, general crankiness...and there's no guaranteed joy infusion in my near future to fix it so it's best to avoid the situation entirely.
I started with a nice lie in. No alarm screeching me awake, just a leisurely wake/doze for a couple of hours that culminated in a cup of coffee and some web surfing in bed. Watched a little of the Saturday morning cooking shows. Made a delicious omelet and had crispy toast with a glaze of real butter and apricot jam.
Went to the office only when I was good and ready. Had a productive four hours there and, though I will have to go in again tomorrow (probably for six or seven hours, if I'm realistic,) I made headway into the tasks at hand so it will be better than it could have been.
Promised myself to leave at four, and I did. Flew to the train station, jumped a local into the city, and an hour later I was walking the streets of the Big Smoke, taking in the people and the noise and the big red busses like a tourist abroad for the first time. Man, I love London.
Met my friend Patricia in the lobby bar of the Soho Hotel. It's a nice little place called Refuel, and they make some kickin' cocktails and have a decent bar menu for snacking. I had a Belvedere Dirty and then a slightly sweet Manhattan. Patricia had one of the house martinis (lemongrass vodka, cucumbers, ginger, etc.) and then followed my lead with the classic vodka M.
Total aside...there's a video on right now called Computer Camp Love. Pretty funny.
Had some snacks at Refuel, as well. (Some killer brushetta with chorizo and roasted red peppers, some little duck and peanut kebabs, and some edamame.) The plan had been dinner, but we didn't really need it after that. Instead, we wandered the streets of Soho, watching people, chatting, and making mental notes of cool places we think we might need to try sometime. Decided we could, in fact, eat more. Found a funky little sushi bar called itsu with a conveyor belt server and industrial red lighting. Just the ticket, I tell you. Avid readers will remember my sushi disappointment earlier in the week. Well, this time I was successful in my quest. The place wasn't a purist sushi joint but it was still satisfying. They did a Japanese/Thai/Vietnamese combo thing with their sushi. We had:
New Style Tuna Sashimi (peppered with a bed of asian slaw)
Chilli Crab Crystal Roll
Seared Fillet of Beef with Shallot Sauce
itsu Sesame Spinach
Spicy Dumplings
Grilled Eel Sushi
Crispy California Hand Rolls
The handrolls were so-so , but the rest was superb and the prices were great. Stuffed we were, so we decided to wander some more. Walked down alleys and side streets, past sex shops and wine bars and hip restaurants with body guards and weird little curio shops and noodle bars and record shops. Stopped at a cafe for cappuccinos and some fabulous desserts. Moseyed through Chinatown and jumped the tube in Leicester Square.
It was a perfect London evening. Rambled around the city. Saw pretty people, ugly people, fashionable types and others wearing momjeans (even some men wearing momjeans.) People didn't have that middle class big-haired trampiness about them. The men weren't all hooligans. It's a proper city, full of people just out relaxing and enjoying a nice (if slightly rainy) summer night. I love that. I miss that. Life has gotten so school-focused that I've been staying in MK too much. In MK, I don't feel like going out because your choices are tacky chain bars and restaurants in the centre or sleepy villages with good restaurants. Not my scene, thanks.
Of course, the drunk train home sucked, as always. The English drink way too much. Have a cocktail or two. Have a glass of wine. But if you're over 25, don't neck your beers at a pace that has you puking in the loo and stumbling down the aisles. It's pathetic. But that's why God made iPods. Put the earbuds in, close your eyes, and you're riding home with Paul Weller and Ryan Adams. Gary and Chuck from Hemel Hempstead can piss off. Stupid bastards.
I started with a nice lie in. No alarm screeching me awake, just a leisurely wake/doze for a couple of hours that culminated in a cup of coffee and some web surfing in bed. Watched a little of the Saturday morning cooking shows. Made a delicious omelet and had crispy toast with a glaze of real butter and apricot jam.
Went to the office only when I was good and ready. Had a productive four hours there and, though I will have to go in again tomorrow (probably for six or seven hours, if I'm realistic,) I made headway into the tasks at hand so it will be better than it could have been.
Promised myself to leave at four, and I did. Flew to the train station, jumped a local into the city, and an hour later I was walking the streets of the Big Smoke, taking in the people and the noise and the big red busses like a tourist abroad for the first time. Man, I love London.
Met my friend Patricia in the lobby bar of the Soho Hotel. It's a nice little place called Refuel, and they make some kickin' cocktails and have a decent bar menu for snacking. I had a Belvedere Dirty and then a slightly sweet Manhattan. Patricia had one of the house martinis (lemongrass vodka, cucumbers, ginger, etc.) and then followed my lead with the classic vodka M.
Total aside...there's a video on right now called Computer Camp Love. Pretty funny.
Had some snacks at Refuel, as well. (Some killer brushetta with chorizo and roasted red peppers, some little duck and peanut kebabs, and some edamame.) The plan had been dinner, but we didn't really need it after that. Instead, we wandered the streets of Soho, watching people, chatting, and making mental notes of cool places we think we might need to try sometime. Decided we could, in fact, eat more. Found a funky little sushi bar called itsu with a conveyor belt server and industrial red lighting. Just the ticket, I tell you. Avid readers will remember my sushi disappointment earlier in the week. Well, this time I was successful in my quest. The place wasn't a purist sushi joint but it was still satisfying. They did a Japanese/Thai/Vietnamese combo thing with their sushi. We had:
New Style Tuna Sashimi (peppered with a bed of asian slaw)
Chilli Crab Crystal Roll
Seared Fillet of Beef with Shallot Sauce
itsu Sesame Spinach
Spicy Dumplings
Grilled Eel Sushi
Crispy California Hand Rolls
The handrolls were so-so , but the rest was superb and the prices were great. Stuffed we were, so we decided to wander some more. Walked down alleys and side streets, past sex shops and wine bars and hip restaurants with body guards and weird little curio shops and noodle bars and record shops. Stopped at a cafe for cappuccinos and some fabulous desserts. Moseyed through Chinatown and jumped the tube in Leicester Square.
It was a perfect London evening. Rambled around the city. Saw pretty people, ugly people, fashionable types and others wearing momjeans (even some men wearing momjeans.) People didn't have that middle class big-haired trampiness about them. The men weren't all hooligans. It's a proper city, full of people just out relaxing and enjoying a nice (if slightly rainy) summer night. I love that. I miss that. Life has gotten so school-focused that I've been staying in MK too much. In MK, I don't feel like going out because your choices are tacky chain bars and restaurants in the centre or sleepy villages with good restaurants. Not my scene, thanks.
Of course, the drunk train home sucked, as always. The English drink way too much. Have a cocktail or two. Have a glass of wine. But if you're over 25, don't neck your beers at a pace that has you puking in the loo and stumbling down the aisles. It's pathetic. But that's why God made iPods. Put the earbuds in, close your eyes, and you're riding home with Paul Weller and Ryan Adams. Gary and Chuck from Hemel Hempstead can piss off. Stupid bastards.
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