Mixamitosis

Well, I had my first night in London. It was a relatively understated affair; there was hardly a drag queen in sight next to no pole-dancing, but it was still a ball.

The purpose for our little jaunt was to catch up with Rog's ex-housemate, Duncan, a lovely young chap from the land of the long white cloud. We took the "tube" into Shoreditch to the Dunksta's flat. From there we went off some underground bar just off Old Street named Smersh, which was sort of like the Russian version of Double Happiness, only less busy. It was quite sleepy that night so after a bottle of beer and some vodka we moved on to Trafik, where I drank my first pint (well, my first pint in London, this time around). Trafik was cool, if not a little non-descript. Our next stop was a cocktail bar under some restaurant. Martinis, martinis, martinis. Joy of joys!

But of course, the fun didn't stop there. For some ungodly reason we ended up travelling across town in a black cab to get to a summer beach party in Clapham, which Duncan decided to drag us to. Lovely crowd, lots of delightful chit chat, lays a plenty.

Then came the fun part... getting home, because unfortunately, London, the city that never sleeps, is also home to the London Underground, the transport system that seems to sleep with clockwork regularity. No "tube" after midnight. So in the middle of this terribly cold evening we had to negotiate the Night Bus system. Left at 3am got home at 4:30am. We are starting to put together a little portfolio of reasons to move closer to the city. This one goes straight to the top of the list.

Anyway, long story (kinda) short: Red + Vodka + Beer + Gin + White = Nasty, queezy stomach feeling = Not going open air ice skating today!