When I was first deported to Canary Wharf, I thought my life was over.
Oh yes, I was being exactly that dramatic. When I told my managers that they would have to drag me there kicking and screaming they probably thought I was exaggerating. I was not.
In spite of a very detailed and lengthy sales pitch of how I could set up my office in the St Paul's Starbucks and allow my boss to use the money for my desk rent towards the annual Christmas party, I was shipped off to Canary Wharf one gloomy May day in 2012. It was awful. They put me on a bus and once I got there the coffee they gave me was disgusting and I suspect, instant.
My then boss was however very impressed by my presentation and financial calculations that came with it. I have a feeling he wished I applied the same passion to my actual work....
I have come to terms with the place. Get me right, it's grey, dull and lacks any type of personality - but at least I no longer step off the DLR and cry. Loudly. Whilst wailing 'why God, why me?!'... Actually, come to think of it. It is probably me because I only speak to God for having to travel to Canary Wharf and when the Christian Louboutin sample sale doesn't stock my size.
So I learnt how to deal with the abysmal shopping, the fact that my lunch always has bread in it and the people who sweat near me on the public transport I have now been reduced to using every day. But the worst must still be, the after work drink venue options. They now consist of All Bar One and Corney and Barrow. That is all. And that, my friends, is just not acceptable.
A few feasible options have turned up over the years and I have had a decent cocktail or two since the emigration from real London - but it is very much hit and miss and I generally land myself with very bland Pinot.
Then came One Canada Square. When I first heard of this place - a place in the land of doom with actual mixologists - I was convinced it was a joke. But it seemed that God had heard my prayers. As he clearly has nothing better to do.
As it was time for a massively overdue catch up with another ex boss, one who was present at the time of the 'I rather die than go to the Wharf' pitch, but not the subject of it - I decided we needed to try out One Canada Square. One, I really needed a drink and two, I demonstrated some maturity in having come to terms with my fate of eternal damnation in the CW.
This is the ex boss who both accepted and appreciated my obsession with keeping daily lists and tidy piles on my desk, one of few who can beet me in sarcasm and who also makes the damn best cupcakes in the world. I was thrilled to finally get some insight into the last six months or so of her very hectic schedule with travels, an adorable daughter and life back at the old office.
One Canada Square did in no way disappoint. Starting off with a simply scha-mazing shrimp and scallop burger, I am in love with this place. Combined with some fantastic wine and finishing off with cornflake sorbet and salted caramel popcorn ice cream, I am never agreeing to set foot at a bar chain again. No sir.
Then there was the cocktails. My rhubarb and rose water gimlet was orgasmic. Just watching the guy make the drinks was an experience and the drinks was delicious. Never give me roses in any other shape again.
Canary Wharf - I still hate your guts. But at least now I can do so with a good quality buzz.
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| Beautiful, delicious AND with rose water coming out of a 1920's perfume bottle. Thank you for saving me. |
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