Friday's social whirl
And then it was Friday, and I was late for Tuttle, but Lloyd said it was the best excuse he'd heard (so that's all right), and I got to experience what is fast becoming one of my favourite weekly rituals, a really good natter about random shit over coffee with my mate Guy (who has minimal web presence despite doing lots of web stuff). We had a great conversation about the way language has been changing, and other such things, and then I wandered off to a nice lunch at Mildred's with Annie, where we gossiped about boys and talked about all our friends who've had babies this year (it was eleven of them at the last count. Still time for a twelfth between now and January, though).
After that, I wandered to Leicester Square to see the funfair, where I gazed at the pretty lights and bad airbrush art. I have a real weakness for bad funfair art, and cannot resist taking photos of any I see. The worse it is, the better! I probably have enough for a whole book's worth of photos on my hard drive. (Hmmm… That's not a bad idea, actually.) I also popped over to Covent Garden to take a look at the Spinvox wishing well, which is really lovely. It's everything good interactive art should be: funny, touching, thought-provoking and pretty to look at. Go take a look!
I spent Friday evening in Leon, in the delightful company of some old-school LFMU Flickrites, which was very pleasant. It was a rather low-key affair, which suited me well after the debauched shenanigans of the night before (maybe "debauched" is too strong a word. No, maybe not). After dinner, we unwisely moved onto The Refinery, a rather horrid bar at the other corner of the BlueFin, where I had a very poor gin martini, despite Kevo's efforts to ensure it was a good one.
There were several bad points against them: firstly, the fact that Kevo had to walk the bartender through every step of mixing the drink (which is, sadly, not unheard of even in better bars). But in this case, it seemed to be because the bartender didn't have a clue what a martini even was, and kept mispronouncing the name. That's pretty shocking, especially for a busy central London bar. Even with Kevo holding the bartender's hand, and all but mixing the drink himself, it wasn't very good (though not for lack of effort on Kevo's part, for which I thank him). Not only was it shaken - something you should never do with a good gin martini - but it was poorly shaken to boot, with slivers of ice resting on the surface of the drink, which was tasteless at the top of the glass, and undrinkable at the bottom of it. They even had to fetch an olive from the kitchen, which is why it's sitting on the giant wooden skewer, instead of a small wooden toothpick.
But take a closer look at the picture, and see why I definitely won't be going back to The Refinery any time soon. Here, let me make it easier for you. Did you spot it? Or more precisely, them? Not one, but three chips in the rim of the glass. Somehow, I managed to miss them and was drinking from the unchipped side of the glass. What you don't see, because it doesn't show up in the photo, is that under the small chip on the left, there was also a lipstick stain. As you might imagine, I stopped drinking when I discovered that. I'd suspected I wasn't going to like The Refinery the moment I walked past its huge goldfish windows and saw the braying hordes of liquored-up business suits, but I didn't expect such an appalling drink. Ironically, their own website lists among their selling points "innovative cocktails", "staff that are there to make your experience one you will never forget" and "more importantly, The Refinery is about getting what you want from a bar." Sure it is, if what you want from a bar is poor service, uncomfortable seating, cramped tables and dirty glasses. Never again. Avoid avoid avoid.
Still, the company was lovely and it was great to catch up!
