Answers Arent At The Back

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

A last soiree in Cambridge

A last soiree in Cambridge... (But maybe not for long :o( )

OK work went well yesterday, lots of progress made, which only left the evening to load with merriment. Nothing extreme just a few of us out for a little supper and a bottle of vino (OK OK and Brandy, and Guinness, and Tequila :o) ).

So I thought I'd just mention the restaurant we eat at, 'Chez Gerard' Brassiere, which apart from being of a French persuasion (they even threw in a real French waitress!), was in fact most acceptable. I believe they're just a small chain with 20 or so restaurants, most of which are located in London. But if you're a strict Carnivore like myself, then very much worth a visit :o) (Even if the wine list was also disappointingly French aswell).

Oh... Another highlight of my day and another thing anti the Hotel I'm staying in... Last nights 'night cap', just a wee Glenmornangie before bed. The B'stards only tried to serve me up a cheap Yucky Jack Daniels Bourbon type offering instead! And then insisted it was Glenmorganie because it said so on the bottle! Obviously I bowed to the opinion of my new 'Malt Mentor' the 19 year old 'worlds best' whisky expert and head barman who served it to me, Not! Think he 'bottled' (excuse the pun) it when I offered him a wager, double or quits on my entire Hotel Bill... Hehehe ;o)

I'm so glad that was my last night staying there, and in Cambridge.

Ciao Ciao
Confused from Chichester
I BLOG There4 I Am

3Comments:

gemmak said...: Lol..imagine trying to fob you off with a cheap JD type offering! Almost sacrelidge! heh ;o); 6:59 pm
Sublime said...: If I come visit the UK can you show me around? lol...just kidding. Getting out of the country is just sounding dreamy at the moment.

Take care,
Sublime

*Barkeep! Another round for the gentleman, please!"; 7:29 pm
Fletch said...: Gem: Ahh... "The Irish invented it, the Scots perfected it, and the Americans Bastardized it!" ;o)

Sub: Hey, no worries, u come over, I'll show u around :o) Obviously your paying and Ive got expensive tastes so get saving those Pennys up ;o); 4:40 pm

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"I know why you're here. I know what you've been doing... why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why night after night, you sit by your computer...."

**********

D: "Where is everybody, Hol?"
H: "They're dead, Dave."
D: "Who is?"
H: "Everybody, Dave."
D: "What, Captain Hollister?"
H: "Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "What, Todhunter?"
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H: "Everybody is dead, Dave."
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D: "Wait. Are you trying to tell me everybody's dead?"
H: "I wish I'd never let him out in the first place."

**********

"I know most of you have been where I am tonight: the crash site of unrequited love. You've asked yourself, how did I get here? What was it about--was it her smile, Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle? The poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart?...."

"That's an age-old question; it's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night. Hey, you said it best, Will: "Love looks not with eyes but with the mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind." Yeah....."

**********

"Well one day I was at home threatening the kids when I looks out through the hole in the wall and sees this tank pull up and out gets one of Dinsdale's boys, so he comes in nice and friendly and says Dinsdale wants to have a word with me, so he chains me to the back of the tank and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place and Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug and Charles Paisley, the baby crusher, and two film producers and a man they called 'Kierkegaard', who just sat there biting the heads of whippets and Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy Clement' and he splits me nostrils open and saws me leg off and pulls me liver out and I tell him my name's not Clement and then... he loses his temper and nails me head to the floor..."

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The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

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Love comes when manipulation stops. When you think more about the other person than about his or her reaction to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

A last soiree in Cambridge

3Comments:

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