“What are you going to do, arrest me for smoking?” Catherine Tramell, Basic Instinct
‘These glasses are shit.’ I bark to the sober half, twirling a non-cut tumbler in my palm, inspecting it minutely. I don’t remember the name of the cocktail, that’s not my current concern. It’s the drastically inadequate receptacle in which it is presented. ‘What kind of shit are they trying to pull?‘
It’s honestly the most diva-ish rant I had vented in a long time and the poor sober half had her ears beaten to a cauliflower state about my disgruntled view on the matter. I am tempted to name and shame the establishment, however, we’re all entitled to a bad at the office and I don’t wish to slight the good name of the proprietor for what could be a mere blip. The sober half and I have coined the place ‘The dangerous local‘ because of how delightful the cocktails and ambiance is in such a close proximity to our residence in Marble Arch. However, if the insouciant level of service is not corrected on my next visit, then I’m afraid I’ll simply have to get ‘my fix’ elsewhere.
It was a bad cherry on otherwise a wonderful weekend in London. We had a tour of the Wallace Collection, famous for housing Frans Hals, The Laughing Cavalier. Although, I rated Jean-Honoré Fragonard’s The Swing in a higher regard. The blatancy of minge being flashed to the young man behind the hedge-row in a Basic Instinct-esque frame, whilst the cuckolded husband pushes her unwittingly in the background, is a laugh riot. As is the Celebrating the Birth, Jan Steen painting which portrays the story of impotency in Calvinistic times.
For lunch we hit the Le Pain Quotidien. I had some baked eggs with salmon and dill in cute skillet pans. The sober half was explaining the nuances of the Russian alphabet as I watched peripherally, the gentleman of colour streaming the Chelsea Watford game. Fucking Chelsea. No sign of slowing down.