Was in London over the weekend having a lovely time. Weather continues to be scorching and while I'm enjoying my first forays into summer clothing (previous years have seen me in winter clothes, just less of them) I'm beginning to stare wistfully at my cashmere jumpers in their cocoons. First reason for going into town was Laura's birthday. Met up with Brittany and Molly in the Light Bar in Shoreditch and then on to East Village with a quick beer or two in Favela Chic on the way. Also had the 'pleasure' of the company of a couple of extremely posh people from St Andrews that I thought I'd seen the last of but due to Brittany's pleasant appearance an inability to say 'no' such people infrequently appear for a few hours. Unfortunately I was horribly drunk the whole evening so my recollection is hazy at best but one of them definitely told a story that involved being at Boris Johnson's table during the opening of the Beijing Olympics. The mind boggles. My expectations of finding a meritocracy SOMEWHERE in the world were dealt another blow. Eventually it was mooted that cocaine should be acquired and I explained to Brittany that if we spent the rest of the evening with coked up posh boys I'd kill myself. So we left. Which is just as well because the bouncer caught them with their cocaine and the police were called. Since one of the people concerned was a lawyer and a licence was at stake money exchanged hands and nothing came of it in the end but it was a part of the evening I was certainly glad to avoid.
Everything else about the bar hopping was great though - Laura is wonderful, her boyfriend Jack equally so, I don't think I've ever spent an unpleasant second with either of them and Friday was no exception. Plus Bills showed up totally unexpectedly and there was much kissing, tequila drinking and catching up to be done. After escaping the threat of tedious cocaine chat we went to find Brittany's boyfriend and Sonny Phil in a somewhat less salubrious but definitely more appropriate venue. Appropriate because I was so drunk. I definitely remember throwing up in my mouth at one point. Nice.
Eventually we went back to Brittany's new flat on Boundary Street. Small but perfectly formed and a good deal cleaner than the Brick Lane flat. Anthony was in and up. Stayed up all night talking, arguing, listening to music and having a nice time. Created a strange feeling the following day - because I'd stopped drinking and sobered up around 5am I forgot that I'd been EXTREMELY drunk and it only occurred to me halfway through Saturday that I was horribly hungover. Thought I was just tired and hot. Once I realised I was hungover I could do something about it - namely eat lots of chips and drink lots of soda. Ended Friday on a sour note of frustrated affection and will not be making the same mistakes again. Was a reminder to grow up and focus my attentions in appropriate places.
Saturday was gay pride at which I was expecting to march with the Albert Kennedy Trust. Since I hadn't been to sleep I was up very early and took the opportunity to head over to Henry's flat so I could drop off my bag and not have it on my back all day. Spent the morning changing clothes and drinking diet coke in a bid to stave off sleep then we headed out. Walked up and down Baker Street looking for the AKT peeps but they were not in evidence. Checked out all the cute boys in small shorts who were, unfortunately, all hired by companies to advertise their wares (both the companies and their own) and I'm pretty sure there wasn't a homo amongst them. We waited for 45 minutes for the parade to start and to hopefully spot AKT as they came past but due to no sleep, stinking (but as yet unrealised) hangover, BLAZING heat and sunshine, and the small matter of the waistband of my micro shorts digging into my sore back we headed off the Soho to check out the action there.
Wandered around for a bit and decamped to Nandos for chicken, chips and to enjoy the unlimited soda. Highlight of the day for me was that Andi Peters (former TV presenter turned producer - certainly recognisable but a stretch to call him famous) was eating in Nandos. He was sat downstairs and his party was the only party on that floor. As an extra precaution his booth was barricaded by a line of chairs, which I can only assume they were hoping would provide him with an extra few seconds of escape time as he was stampeded by his adoring public. This was in marked contrast to Rupert Everett (former Hollywood movie star, friend of Donatella Versace and MORE than a little bit famous) who was eating at a restaurant 2 doors down sat out on the street with nothing more than his lunch as a barricade. Also saw Ivan Massow. If that isn't a reason to post a picture of him I don't know what is. Must ask him out one of these days.
After embarrassing ourselves by eating half the restaurant (seriously, the waitress visibly judged us and couldn't hide her disgust) we went to Trafalgar Square to party a little bit. Not much of a party to be had so we headed home. Was SO happy to get home - back was killing me, feet were killing me, it was 30 degrees and my hangover had only been alleviated so much. Was asleep by 10pm. Unfortunately I didn't take my camera so no pictures.
Had mixed feelings about the whole day really. The general reaction to my friends about gay pride was 'what's the point of that these days? Gays have it all' and there was a distinct lack of energy to the whole event. Since this comes at a time on increased homophobia in London I was slightly unsettled by the whole thing. Coverage in the press today reflects that - no headlines, no major coverage, just a bit of 'oh by the way, this happened'. Shame really. Plus Madrid Pride was the same weekend so all the gym bunnies were busy showing the Madrilenos what they've got. I guess if I'd slept and not been so hungover I'd have had a more favourable impression over all.
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