It's a London Life

Sometimes living in London is the shits ... and you wonder why we do it. Then there are times that I think it's the greatest place to be. Today it's the latter. So I'm working at an agency down on the river Thames behind the Globe theatre at London Bridge and I'm wondering what to do for lunch as I don't feel particularly hungry, so I decide to go for a walk around Tate Modern. I've done it many times before so nothing new there. What is new is that for once, somebody has decided to hang some fantastic art on those huge walls. I say for once because for a year it has been completely uninspiring and bland but not anymore. So why not pop down there (missing out the Turbine Hall) and go straight for the third floor and feast your eyes on some fantastic paintings that you may never have seen before e.g. 'Tobacco versus Red Chief' by Jean Michel Basquiat(which is much more impressive than this jpeg may suggest).You can see whatthe Carnegie museum says about i...

Primrose Hill is an amazing place to live. What's more we now have our own piste, if only for one day. To recap: It's Monday 2nd February, it's been snowing all night (as predicted for days before), and in the early light just before dawn (7.45am) it's still snowing. What to do? Get out there and make the most of it, of course ... When I got to the top there were already 20 or so children and parents who quite natutrally had decided that they we're going to have some fun and take the day off. As you'd imagine, with no piste grooming facilities it was real back to basics stuff, but pretty soon there were a couple of jumps and things got a bit more lively... But by 9.30 am, and with hundreds more people recklessly throwing themselves down the hill on sheets of cardboard, plastic, trays, whatever ... it was time to leave the latecomers to it.

When our world-famous almost-neighbour (Ssshh! You now who) finally moves into his new (basement & 1st floor maisonette, the cheapskate) house in the 'secluded leafy environs' of Primrose Hill, I bet he never expected that his neighbours would install a hedge in the shape of a very large cat that is lit at night with large red eyes and a diamante collar ... ... why did they do that? The most interesting answer on the back of a digital postcard wins my bootleg dvd copy (courtesy Knock-off Nigel) of 'Defiance'. Miaow, ^ ^ (@@) \ ( )

Gor blimey, an old boozer, with great food, in the middle of Mayfair? You wouldn't Adam an' Eve it, guv'nor! I needed somewhere in town to have a smallish (10-12 people) surprise birthday dinner where there was good food, good atmosphere, but no poncey pretensiousness (so any Gordon Ramsey place was out for this evening), and just a frisson of celebrity endorsement for desert. And somewhere we hadn't been to before ... So I spoke to a couple of geezers, got on the blower, and rang 'The Punchbowl', in Farm Street, in London's Mayfair. And got their biggest table straightaway. Sorted! And how was it? Well, you find it down a backpassage (oo-er), through the ubiquitous smokers outside, and enter via a small, packed (always I Imagine?) bar, hoping correctly that the space at the back is the dining room. It's reasonably dark in that old dark-wood, yellow-tinged-walled pub fashion, that seems to have gone out of fashion, but is still warm & friendly, whi...

A cold Monday night in October normally means a night in front of the box hoping to find something watcheable, but not this Monday (20th October 08). Oh no, tonight means that the angular, concrete environs of the National Theatre on the Southbank beckon. And may I say how good that concrete looks now. Lit by bluish uplighters it really seems to have come into it's own. A concrete monstrosity no longer ... At the bar I ask the barman if I can order drinks for the interval. The barman replies affirmatively but adds that it's not necessary as tonights show is only 65 minutes long. Result! Better one good hour, than 3 hours of badly edited tosh* . A positive omen indeed. The soft-furnished seats of the the Lyttleton are another positive, and the site of numerous blubber-mountains trying to squeeze into them adds a wry piquancy. Is that 'Oedipus' (Ralph Fiennes) two rows in front? By jove we're are indeed bless-ed. And so to the theatrical/dance performance of In-I , st...

Sticking with the rose tip ... here's a fantastic grand cru rose champagne from Richard Fliniaux website: http://richard.fliniaux.monsite.wanadoo.fr/page6.html It's so good, we went to calais, collected 100 bottles from the back of the vineyard van and then took it all the way to the Devi Gar palace in Rajasthan. Serve very chilled. Cheers!

Modern lore would have it that the sound of the British Summer is the reverberation of leather on willow on the vilage green (cricket), or the thwack of ball on raquet tennis. But surely 'tis the sound of bottles of Rose being uncorked in Britain's park land? Now, I've never been a fan of Rose, thinking it as alcoholic fruit juice for the masses thinly tasting of strawberries, but a recent trip to Nicolas on Regent's Park road has changed that. Whilst perusing the range of Rose on display I was edging toward buying a mid-range (£10) bottle when Stephan, the manager, said "Excusez moi, Monsieur, have you tried this one?". And in a split second my wine drinking changed forever. The Culprit? A bottle of "Les Ormes De Cambras CINSAULT 2007 Cuvee reserve 2007". Having road tested this wine on three consecutive sunny Tuesday evenings on Primrose Hill (June/Jule 08) I can only say that this bottle of sub-£5 (£4.90) wine has become the only choice of Rose f...