124. The Not So Dead Poet's Society

2nd May 2014, Cotton's, Exmouth Market, London

My ex colleague and current friend the Poet has one of these amazing personalities that can change the atmosphere in a room full of people.

As one might expect, she does poetry, and she does it damn well. This is the girl who had me laughing myself to tears when reading her absolutely hilarious and genius poem on period pains. This is also the girl who once successfully shut up a room full of obnoxious bankers reading her beautiful and very intense poem on precious metals. I would trade my right arm to have the ability to shut bankers up - they normally love their own voices so much that quiet is a distant memory to them. Probably from before they could actually speak.

I have this far missed all of her many official performances and have also never been to any actual poetry reading, but finally the time had come!

Not being the type to go alone to strange parts of town outside of my usual clique, I had to drag someone along with me to this evening of pretending to be one of the cool kids. Getting the future Mr and Mrs away from frantic wedding planning is easier said than done these days, but I did manage to lure them out with the promise of dinner and culture. Honestly, I got the feeling they were rather happy with the prospect of socialising with any human being not solely there to feed them cake, take in suit jackets or over charge them for lilies. Which made my job of entertaining them an easy one seeing as I can't bake, sew or tell roses apart from tulips.

After several Jamaican Mules, loads of Caribbean chicken and our first proper catch up in absolute ages, my favourite Poet was finally on stage!

And, as per usual, she owned it. I really don't know anyone else who could write a poem on hair extensions that is both funny and insightful but not at all silly. The moving poem on precious metals made another appearance and truth be told, there was even some pretty raunchy stuff later on during her performance. And as a single girl, I take what I can get in that last department.

If you get the chance - make sure to go check this amazing performer out, I swear you won't regret it: http://kemitaiwo.com/

123. Some Very Exotic Islands

30th April 2013, Archipelago, Fitzrovia, London

I'm lucky to have friends who enjoys new and weird experiences as much as I do.

Me and my friend Scotty (not the goose) were off to dine at Archipelago, determined to try anything on the menu crazy enough for us to have never tried it before. And that says a lot seeing as in my country we eat Rudolph and in Scotty's country they eat Skippy.

Arriving at Archipelago I instantly adored it! I needed a password to get to my table and I got to eat my dinner sitting on a throne (Scotty got a regular chair) next to a peacock. Granted, a dead peacock - but never the less, a peacock.

Before I even had a chance to get excited about the menu, the lovely and Being asked to put the pill in the potpourri bowl in front of me was even more odd. Next thing we know, the mint pill has turned itself into a hot towel. This first oddity of many set the tone for the rest of the evening and that made me look forward for all to come.

 

Menu

Wine: Massaya Classic Red. Lebanese. Yummy. Who knew they grew something other than mezze platters?

Starters: Burmese Embrace and Serengeti Strut. Python carpaccio and Zebra jerky. One was delicious, the other disgusting. Guess which one I picked?

To be fair, the waiter did warn me that python snake is not to everyone's taste. And I shortly got what he was talking about. Very chewy, very funky. Needless to say I did not enjoy it.

Lucky for me, Scotty's parents' clearly taught him how to share. Thank you Scotty's Mum. Thank you Scotty's Dad.

Zebra is delicious as it turns out.

Main: Pontiac Rodeo and Peruvian Jumper. Bison and Alpaca. My new favourite non-cows.

I honestly don't know which was yummier. And yes, I do eat from other people's plates. Bison is like a proper good steak worthy of a man's man, or a Viking girl whilst Alpaca is an amazingly tender piece of meat worthy of kings.

So far, so good.

Dessert: Ottoman Bake and Pharao's Treasure. And a baby bee!

I soon as I saw the baby bee on the menu, I knew I needed to have it. Sadly, the brown butter ice cream on the side of the baby bee did not intrigue me. Lucky for me, bit of a trembling lip action scored me a baby bee and the dessert I actually wanted.

This time, I actually left Scotty's dessert alone after he made it clear I was not allowed to eat the 24 carat gold on his plate.

Instead I focused on my honey covered baby bee. It was surprisingly crunchy. And surprisingly tasteless.

I ate a bee! I ate a bee, on purpose!

Digestif: A Visit From The Doctor. Exactly as absurd as it sounds.

For starters. They gave us more pills. Multi coloured ones this time around. Blue one for me, yellow for Scotty. After popping the pills into a bowl of water, the doctor came.

With an actual doctor's bag. And a statoscope. I was intrigued to say the least.

In the bag the doctor held some of the most random yet amazing concoctions I could ever have imagined. We're talking gold flake schnapps, snake infused absinthe and 10 other types of fabulous booziness!

Narrowing it down to three we enjoyed some way too large shots and after this, I suspected that crawling would be my mean of transport home.

And to end the craziness, the blue and yellow pills had now turned into a bison and a lion.

I'm the bison!


I want to hang out here all the time.



Zcotty and the Zebra

I think it's quite respectful gesture to put the zebra on a zebra plate

Pieces of a Python. Don't do it. Just don't.

Bison steak, blue potatoes and seriously the best Caesar salad I have ever had

Alpaca. Nicer than a sweater.

Happy bunny!

Crunchy honey bee!

Me eating the honey bee



The dessert living in the honey bee's shadow.

Colourful pills!

The doctor's bag

Python infused absinthe....

Gold flake schnapps...

Lemon grass loveliness

Our magical pill creatures!

I could totally be a bison. Which would make me a cannibal. Now this may not work...

 

 

122. Reverse Facials

28th April 2014, Slim Jim's, Moorgate, London

Apparently back facials are a thing. Who knew?

I have no clue what my back looks like. So why would I spend good money on getting my back looking pretty? Then it dawned on me. I have no clue what my back looks like. Other people see my back. What if it's covered in spots and hives and looks like something out of the Exorcist? None of my tattoos are big enough to cover up a pizza face on your back.

Having bumped into my previous beautician who I used to hang with at least weekly before the Canary Wharf deportation, I had booked myself in for some new fun treatments she had going. Amongst them, the brand new back facial that I hear is not to be missed.

Having a mud mask put on your back is very odd and very sticky. And not a good sticky. The only thing I could think of during is that I must look very similar to a Bounty bar. And identifying yourself with a Bounty bar does not put you in a relaxing frame of mind to enjoy the relaxing massage following the back mask. Going forward I think I'll stick with face facials.

And I still don't know what my back looks like.

121. Pea in a Pod

28th April 2014, Virgin Active, Broadgate, London

I just love naps!

After a month of my break from working I have slipped into the habit of daily naps. Afternoon naps to be precise. At 3 a clock every single afternoon to be even more precise.

This Monday, my daily nap was messed with. The cleaner who normally comes by Monday mornings, had to reschedule for the afternoon this week. Hence no nap time. And seeing as the lady in my yoga class woke me up - it looked like my nap was cancelled and let's face it, that would not make me a happy bunny. Strangely people seem to struggle to sympathise with this story when I tell it.

I had actually saved the sleeping pots at the gym for a lunch power nap when I'm no longer a lady of leisure. But this was a time of need and the only way in which I would get my nap, was by getting into a one of these spaceships.

Because they do in fact look a bit like spaceships. Although I would have preferred the type of spaceships that covers your feet. It is a rather odd feeling lying there, napping, half egg, half human.

I can live with my feet sticking out. It would be worse if I had to sleep with my face visible, because believe me - I don't have a cute sleeping face suited for general exposure. We're talking mouth wide open and nostrils flaring. There's been more than one occasion of falling asleep on planes and waking up from my own snoring only to realised I have fallen asleep on the shoulder of the person next to me. With the drool stains to go with the full public sleeping experience.

The sleeping pods, unlike planes, worked a treat. The inside of the pod literally goes pitch black and quiet which makes you nod right off in spite of sleeping in a room full of strangers. Unlike the last time I slept in a room full of strangers, which was the Horrendous Hostel Happening of 2008. Not so surprisingly the first and last time I have stayed at a hostel.

And again, someone comes to wake me. What is the deal?! Why impose a 20 minute limit in the middle of the city - don't people have jobs to go to? I mean... The other people?

Tomorrow order will be restored and 3 PM will once more be nap time.

Spaceship sleeping arrangements

120. No Gravity?

28th April 2014, Virgin Active Broadgate, City of London

When the skinny bitch in pink lycra tells you that you can't fall on your face... She is lying her perfectly shaped ass off.

I, possibly the most ungraceful human being on Planet Earth, have been to anti gravity yoga. Funny enough, if there was one thing I did experience during these 60 minutes, it was gravity. In the shape of several crash landings.

The thing is - I don't even like regular yoga. Whether is the Ashtanga, Vinyasa, Anusara or something else that sounds like a curry, it is guaranteed to bore me half to death. I already know how to breathe, I can not identify with a tree or a frog and quite frankly - I think relaxation is overrated. Now, Bikram yoga I'm slightly more on board with, but that is primarily because it feels a bit like a sauna. And I like saunas. However, eventually the instructor will still ask you to get up and be a tree. I will never be the tree.

Someone suggested that anti gravity yoga may be for me as you actually have to make an effort beyond breathing and stretching. Plus the swings you hang from look kind of fun.

So, there we are, me, the skinny bitch in lycra and a bunch of bankers who look like deep down they believe in all this inner peace crap. I think they should find new jobs.

They make a big selling point of the fact that everyone will complete a head stand during their first class. And I'll give it to them, I did do a head stand for the first time in my entire life. The head stand per se was not the problem. No, the problem was getting back up from the head stand. At that stage, when you are hanging there turned upside down, all the blood rushing to your head and you really want to sink through the floor without necessarily hitting it - you really don't need a pep talk from the skinny girl in lycra:

Skinny Girl In Lycra: You in the back, do you need some help?
That Girl In The Back: Nope.... I'm good.
SGIL: It's only that... The rest of us stopped doing head stands five minutes ago.
TGITB: Yeah I know that.
SGIL: You know what, I'll pop back there.
TGITB: There's really no need. Really, I'm fi..... Oh you're here.
SGIL: Now, use your inner core strength to pull yourself up.
TGITB: Trust me, all my strength is pretty shallow.
SGIL: Now, stop being silly and stop clinging on to the rope.
TGITB: I like the rope.

I stopped clinging on to the rope. And that initiated my first close contact with the studio floor. I knew that skinny bitch was out to hurt me.

After another three crash landings, I decided on a different approach; Spinning around.

These anti gravity thingy bobs are basically awesome grown up swings. That spins. And spins and spins until you kind of want to throw up. Just awesome.

Spinning around, minding my own business, skinny bitch interrupts me yet again:

SGIL: You in the back... I get that you're having fun, but could you maybe keep it down a bit?
TGITB: WEEEEEEEEE.... Wait, what?
SGIL: Could you perhaps stop making that noise so loudly?
TGITB: Oh yeah. Totally.
SGIL: Thank you.
TGITB: WEEEEEEEEE....

And, at the end of the class, there is finally something I can get on board with. Nap time. So strictly speaking, it was apparently time to gather ones' thoughts. But when you are all tucked in the massive red swinging cocoon in the very dark room - how are you suppose not to fall asleep? And to wake someone up mid snooze is frankly really rude, even if there is a CXWORX class just after the yoga class.

Spinning or no spinning, I think I'll stick with body pump class and somewhat butch, scary instructor.

Swings!

119. Hipster Style Monsters Inc.

26th April 2014, Ministry of Stories and Hoxton Street Monster Supplies, Hoxton, London

 

During a mac'n'cheese and champagne induced migraine I dragged myself out to a place about as dreadful as I was feeling.

 

After a burger lunch with the Camel she once more had to partake in visiting the next place on The List. Whilst that normally entails Damien Hirst pieces, gourmet chicken in a bucket and mojito tastings - this time it was slime based candy, horrendous horror stories and all things Halloween.

 

Hoxton Street is one of those locations in East London that are still up and coming rather than full blown Hipsterville and going there reminds me of why I first fell for Shoreditch - before the Essex Hen Do's heard on the grapevine that it's well cool...

 

It's that combination of stinky fried chip shops and tacky Poundlands as well as cute bohemic restuarants and pretentious boutiques with the designs from the next big thing in fashion land. All in the midst of Hoxton Street Market, which is possibly the dodgiest and most plastic market in London. It makes Petticoat Lane Market come off as high class, do I need to say more?

 

Ministry of Stories and Hoxton Street Monster Supplies is one of those wonderfully weird shops that are hard to come by outside of Shoreditch and Hackney and my inner child, as per usual not very well hidden, absolutely loved all of it.

 

80's comedy horror films could have been filmed in there. We're talking the jars of eye balls and Frankenstein's monster charger - this is more exciting than the Tower of Terrors at Disneyworld! Granted, I'm too much of a scaredy cat for the Tower of Terrors - but this was just up my street in terms of general creepiness.

 

Of course I bought stuff. How does one get through life without salt taken from tears of anger, earwax toffees and humbugs with a side of escalated panic?

 

I love monsters.



 

The recipe for a good Friday night.

Your everyday essentials.

Night time stories and candy!

Never mind iPads - this is a useful gadget.

One happy bunny getting ready for the monsters!

I tried sacrificing the Camel for candy - they didn't want her even though she's adorable!



Vampires need not apply.



118. The Mac'n'cheese Masterships

25th April 2014, Brick Lane, London

 

Out of all comfort food there is, mac'n'cheese must be the best kind!

 

Although I love me some mac'n'cheese when I need a bit of cheering up, calming down or I just happen to have nothing better to do than eating  - the Floridian's love for this amazing pick me up is border lining a full fledged addiction. 

 

I don't think I have once visited a restaurant with this beautiful gooeyness of cheese and pasta on the menu without her ordering that in before even considering mains. She and I would also go through unhealthy amounts of Kraft's blue boxes coming home from crazy nights out when still living together. We even had mac'n'cheese for dinner when celebrating her 30th birthday, all whilst watching the Lion King in our pj's. That's grown ups for you!

 

If I may say so myself, I make pretty damn fantastic mac'n'cheese. And competitive as I am, I obviously can't settle for anything less than being the best, so the Mac'n'cheese Masterships were on. And who better to be the judge and declare a final winner than my favourite Floridian?

  

I had narrowed it down to my three greatest mac'n'cheese masterpieces, each containing enough cheese to cause a heart attack to the healthiest of people - but man, what a great way to go! After hours of shredding six types of cheese, cooking every shape of macaroni on the planet and burning my tongue repeatedly when ensuring cheese goo perfection, I must say I had outdone myself. And probably also increased my own cholesterol by 100% in a day.

 

Then to the big problem; what wine goes with mac'n'cheese? Google rambles on about good quality pinot noirs or full bodied chardonnays. Full bodied??? Is that the same as big boned? All bottles are about the same size aren't they? Get me right, I agree with supporting all sizes and shapes, but this seems a bit over the top.

 

In the end, I went with champagne. After all, champagne goes with everything. I know this after many dinners of soggy Cheerios and Pol Roger. Works every time. And, as it turns out - it goes even better with mac'n'cheese than with cereal'n'milk

 

Upon the arrival of the Floridian, I was pretty damn excited about the carb and cheese fest about to commence and she looked pretty excited too! Well, after an 80 hour working week odds are she may have been mainly excited about actually sitting down on a sofa and drinking copious amounts of bubbles - but I decided her excitement was simply because she had been dreaming about this moment for months. 

 

She approved of all of three candidates for mac'n'cheese champion, but after a lot of consideration declared a winner in The Experiment. 

 

The Experiment was developed throughout the breakdown of what may just have been the biggest train wreck of a relationship that have had actual survivors left to tell the tale. After months of wallowing in self pity, drinking copious amounts of vodka and eating a tub of Ben & Jerry's a day - at least something good came out of this 2010 disaster of a break up. Nothing mends a broken heart like cheddar, parmesan, nutmeg, pancetta cubes and elbow macaroni it seems. And alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

 

I officially declare myself the Mac'n'cheese Master!

 

Mac'n'Cheese Factory

One happy Floridian!

The All American; Cheddar, gruyere and mustard

The Experiment; Nutmeg, pancetta, cheddar and parmesan

The Posh One; White truffles and fontina cheese