Colombian Flower Market 11.32am 8th May Sunday
The hottest day of the year so far. I was sweating in all kinds of places on the train down and the added half hour hike from Liverpool St to the Colombian Flower Market meant I was in all kinds of trouble by the time I met up with Anastasia (date 3) and her friends Masha and Tzveta.
“So this is once a year festival?” I asked Anastasia, as we threaded our way through the melee of people.
“No every Sunday?” She said.
“Oh and they’ve been going a couple of years?”
“NO over a hundred years.”
Boy do I start needing to do my research ahead of time. I bought an orchard for my Mum, was tempted to get some Sunflowers for housemate Neil but then thought better of it knowing how incredibly homo-erotic that would look. As I was getting my camera into focus some vendor told me “No pictures.”
OK Madonna, I thought. I would have told him to behave but it was too congested to throw some words down without an easy escape.
We ordered an Uber to take us back to Anastasia’s. During the wait I saw a guy on a bench enjoying a fag and a beer. Coyly I asked if I can grab his picture, he said “Of course.” He said his name was Jim and that he was here busking. But I saw no guitar. He should have had a sign saying “I’m a cool looking mother effer, £1 for my picture.” I would have paid.
After dropping off the flowers we went on to the The Grazing Goat down Quebec Street. I had the Goat burger, beetroot relish, gem lettuce with romesco sauce. Let me tell you it was f*8king delicious. The girl that served us, possibly Polish, was as sweet as anything although a little crazy. She seemed to struggle with the intonation of her voice, like a cross between Bobcat Goldthwait and Pamela from the Jedd Hunter commercial. Bonus points if you get both references without googling.
After we get supplies and head down to Regents Park. Tzveta is Bulgarian and needs to see a stork so she can tie a ribbon to a fruit tree. Some kind Pagan tradition in her country. I punch in google ‘Storks in London’. There are some things that the internet cannot solve, this being one of them. I downloaded the ‘Around Me’ app, punched in Storks in London. It pretty much told me to go fuck myself.
I later went to go in for cheek kiss number two with Anastasia. Her cheek was within range and exposed. She was unguarded and I was a 4 glasses of fizz in, it was time to take this up a notch. I went in, took aim, planted one on the high bone. Unlike the mild head butt ear-kiss debacle from a few days earlier, this was a clean strike. Again, completely ignored, and we carried on looking for storks around Regents Park.
Dinner down Fairuz in Blandford St, a Lebanese restaurant. I had the Musakka (baked aubergines in chick peas, tomatoes, onions and garlic) which was a knockout. We also had some Halloumi. I asked Anastasia if she would like some grilled Lebanese cheese.
“Yes please.” She said.
I served her some Halloumi from the dish to her plate.
“Halloumi me. (Allow me).” I said. It might have been the best gag I have cracked in about 2 years, but sadly I think it was lost in translation. See below more pics from the day.