The Columbian Flower Market

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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