London Birthday drinks

A dimly cocktail bar, candles flickering with the movement of people, the smooth background noise that was funky jazz. The exotic drinks menu, cocktails with alcohol that I never I never knew existed, let alone tasted. Prices, that I thought, were in dollars, not pounds. Smartly dressed staff, watching the ash trays and empty bottles, clearing them as soon as discarded. The change in metal dishes, tips obviously expected, seldom given. Wash basins with hand movement trigger. Stalls. Fashionably uncomfortable. Reserved tables that never seemed to be filled.

What the hell was I doing here? A pint of Stella and a packet of peanuts please.

And so it was. Four hours, eight long cocktails later, and fifty pounds lighter it was time to go, get the last train. What was meant to be a London birthday reunion, turned out to be a one on one drink for two.

Now I hadn’t engineered this situation. Say to a nice young lady that other people are coming , then once in your web, feed the bait to the prey. No, I’m not that clever. For the multitude of reasons why the others didn’t show, were the multiple reasons why in the end I really didn’t mind. Although feeling slightly guilty about the thought that I could have engineered this situation, I also sat back and revelled in the ability to have one on one contact. No worrying about catering to peoples tastes, no clash of personalities, no hovering in between friends. Just four hours of catching up with the girl that I had spent three days on rocky boat with in Australia.

For all the negatives, there’s always a positive.


The dimly lit bar, completely engineered. Not.




The Coneman. A quick wonder around London confirmed, you can make money from anything. Even by blowing through a road cone. Calssic.