So, it was my 25B (I refuse to say I’m 26) birthday on the weekend. We went out in Soho on Saturday night and had a bit of fun. There was French champagne, my faithful partner in crime, old school friends, new gay husbands, jugs of cosmopolitans, dancing with bathroom attendants, aviator sunglasses, stacks on, long stemmed roses, posed photos, Jazzify street performances, cold samosas, a sea captains hat, and a fry up when we got home. And that’s all I am going to say about that. I'm not a huge fan of birthdays, but this one was pretty good despite being so far away from my family. I loved all of my cards and flowers and presents, thank you all so much!As for what we did on my actual birthday, I'm going to let Amber tell that story. So how about a warm round of applause for our guest blogger, Amby!London days begin early in May - sun rises at around 5 am and doesn't set until nearly 10 pm. An unseasonable week of fantastic weather sets the scene for last Sunday which was a long day full of observations of life in the capital Britain.
AM
After returning home rather late the previous evening (nudged Cinderella out of the way as I made my way through the door), Amanda, Matt, Mark and I ventured down to 'The Slug' to watch a much anticipated Brisbane Broncos vs. Manly Sea Eagles match. As we were all feeling the effects of the previous night (Mandy's 25Bth birthday) we kicked off the morning with some grease (big burger with lots of lard) and a pinch of the hair of the dog (in my case a pint of Magner's Irish cider). The weather was absolutely glorious (27 degrees and sunny), so not surprisingly, all of the pasty locals and their mangy dogs had also ventured out - the fact that there was a Chelsea vs. Bolton football (soccer) semi also added to the colourful delights that filled the streets of Fulham. As the Brisbane Broncos descended into a fiery ball of failure, the 'Slug' slowly filled itself with rowdy soccer yobs either dressed in non-flattering costumes, too tight jerseys or, worst of all, the teams' 'away' jersey (featuring bare chest, beer belly and hairy sponsorship). As the game wound down I had the good fortune to comment to a middle-aged Bobby about my preference for rugby league over the wussy round ball sport. He agreed and we launched into a great conversation about Wigan and the glory days of Ellery Hanley - he asked me if I was going to be back at the pub 'tonight' - he was concerned about my safety I think. So I assured him I would be staying out of the way of any riots, chanting or police violence - he looked disappointed.
EARLY PM
Mandy and I left the Slug (the crowd had become suffocating and Matt and Mark had already deserted us in favour of Sunday lounging at home). As we made our way down the street we were greeted by more and more 'away jerseys'. Disgusted by the lack of dignity of these football fans, Mandy reported her concerns to some young cops keeping an eye on proceedings. "Is that legal in this country?" Mandy asked pointing at a particularly large white specimen whose chafing could not only be seen but heard. One of the cops looked at his fellow countryman with a wry grin before replying "Yes ... but it shouldn't be!". The freak show didn't stop there. Between Farm Lane and Brompton Park Crescent is a small green space - good for exercising dogs or having a snooze or a read on nice days (it's just a shortcut to me). As we entered the green space a man (in a Chelsea jersey of course) walked past us with his young son and wife and other child trailing. As he passed he suddenly jerked his head to the side, placed one finger over his nostril and blew as hard as he could. Yes folks - he pulled out the bushman's hankie!!! On the ground. In front of his family. In front of us. My stomach lurched and I looked at his wife wondering how she ever mustered the courage to produce those two children with that man.
PM
Probably should have stayed in after the morning of atrocities but it's rare that the weather is that good so M&A&M&A headed out the park adjoining our estate. We spread out some sheets as a makeshift picnic blanket and celebrated Mandy's birthday with some Marks and Spencer salad, Mumm champagne and some games of Uno. Luckily I had finished eating when three fat and rather white flamed-haired teenage girls entered the arena accompanied by a skinny little turd of a boy kicking a soccer ball. Two of the 'rangas' were holding hands and I thought it lucky that biology will prevent them from producing a child with both of their genes. The foursome began to kick a soccer ball around the park (even though it was clearly signed that ball games are not allowed!) and every time one of the ten-tonne trio 'scored' she would put the shirt over her head and run about like seismic occurrence. Needless to say this was just gross and like a car crash we all just couldn't stop looking. Eventually the sideshow had to end and the feral foursome walked towards the exit of the park. Two rangas holding hands again, third ranga third wheeling but then things got just that bit worse. The turdy kid walks over the ranga lesbians and proceeds to put his hands down the back of one of their pants. I think this was in a wedgie attempt but instead he just pulled this unfortunate girl's shorts down far enough for most of the park's inhabitants to dry-retch.
LATER PM
Meanwhile, a 'gentleman' entered the park wearing jeans, a button up shirt and carrying his lunch and a newspaper. He sat down approx ten metres from our party and proceeded to eat his lunch. Lunch eaten - check. He then took his shirt off. Shirt off - check. He then proceeded to read his newspaper. Newspaper read - check. He then lay down for a nap. Nap - check. He then not very subtly took off his jeans to expose a pair of non-elasticised Primark jockey shorts and flashed all of equipment in our direction. Who does that????????????? Lucky for us Mandy took a photo.
Time to leave the park and indeed the day behind. After an obligatory evening of delivered oriental food and Sex and City, the sun set on the longest Sunday in South-West Londy.....
