The Lion and the Lobster

Yesterday's London Meet was a lot of fun, although sadly I couldn't stay as long as I would have liked. It was great catching up with people, as well as meeting new furs too. The Meet was quite sparsely populated by London standards but I feel this made for a stronger experience as it was far easier to meet new people. Seeing Enteirah's fursuit for the first time, and particularly his bouncy tail, was fantastic whilst I must also admit that I am starting to like Jamie's Bar too. It was moodily atmospheric during the torrential downpours whilst I now feel like less of a tramp despite hanging around and drinking alcohol outside the entrance to a City Thameslink station.

Due to having a prior engagement, I sadly had to leave the bar early. This also limited my imbibing of alcohol but I am looking at potentially going to the summer party come the end of July or perhaps the Great British Beer Festival in Earls Court at the beginning of August. With my new job meaning I can far more easily take weekends off, I am hoping to visit London and do more travelling around the UK over the coming months. After all, in the space of two months, I have been in London five times, which is more than the last three years combined. And perhaps,  I may bring my fursuit down too, after certain quarters described it as "cute". Let the pink cuteness prevail!!

Kill It On The Floor

The Oxford and Cambridge Club is at 71 Pall Mall and in the year 1875. Think Jules Verne and Philius Fogg and you won't go far wrong. My ex- girlfriend is a member of said institution and last night invited 12 of her closest friends to partake in a banquet in the sumptuous chandelier lit dining hall.

The champagne reception was in a room which felt like I was trapped in a Walls Vienetta. Gold trim was everywhere and as the guests arrived, all in black tie, we greeted all of them in a cordial manner. I knew three well, two others less well and seven not at all. My ex passed me a copy of Cosmopolitan - complementary reading at the club - and I was disappointed to discover the lack of cock on show where there were pics of hunky men. I made a note of it - and also became the first person to say the c word in polite society. Well probably not. Anyway, the room was massive, with a large bay window looking out on to rain soaked Pall Mall. This had drenched us too and I had to spend time drying myself off in the squash courts' changing rooms.

The banquet was brilliant, in a hall which was large and a homely red colour. Portraits of mysterious men adorned the walls and the toilets were so beneath contempt, the doors to them weren't even labelled. Humorous cartoons adorned the top of the urinals. The service was a bit poor though. I had a terrine starter, roast leg of lamb main and cheeseboard dessert. With unlimited cheese. This went well with the port which was offered, along with the convivial conversation amongst friends old and new. At dessert, we had to move places to meet new people and I believe everyone had a good time. We were there a good five hours and although conversation was sometimes difficult, generally things went well.

Sadly, this is where it ended as my ex insisted on going clubbing. My friends and I merely fancied a nightcap at a jazz or blues bar but as she had generously paid for the whole meal, we decided we should concord with her wishes. And rightly so, I feel.

This meant going into Soho and one of the 'trendy' clubs there. The first one barred us for having too flat shoes but we soon found a place equally as ghastly. £20 entry, £6 a bottle of beer (Asahi mind so it was qwaletee) and bohemian men called Dave and glam girls named Chantelle as far as the eye could see. Two blonde ladies were pole dancing on podiums in one corner which was about as appealing as a bucket of sick. It was an RnB club, my least favourite form of music after misogyny, and I was so tired I really struggled (an 18 hour day, 5 hours sleep, a 7am start and a three course meal tends to do that). The heat in that place was horrendous un da choons were no phat man, just da usual bizzle. £20 was hardly warranted - some RnB is fine but this stuff was certainly not to my tastes. Plus I don't like dancing or people jostling me, which is probably why I haven't been clubbing in about four years. The firework cocktails were fun but after an hour, a friend and I had had enough so we wandered around Carnaby Street until the others were done. Thankfully that wasn't too long and we were soon home to our grateful sofa beds.

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The Mysterious Case Of The Pup In The Bedroom

The next day was a Sunday, by which I mean today. A happy coincidence was that on Fathers' Day, my dad was in London helping my sister move back north. She has just finished university at UCL so the four of us - me, dad, my sis and my bro (who lives and works in the capital) - met up in Smith's by Smithfield Market for one of the finest breakfasts London has to offer. I rarely get to see my family these days and even though we could only spend an hour together before my dad drove my sister home, it was a great little reunion of sorts. It was good catching up.

After this I pottered around London for a bit as my ex was still in church before we arranged to meet up at Victoria Station. I noticed the Southern Railway stone edifice atop the clock and thought it struck a grandiose pose. I liked the jelly babies at Marble Arch too.

The next few hours became rather surreal. My ex's best friend - a nice lass called Juliet - was treating her dad to a Fathers' Day meal at the Bombay Spice restaurant off Edgware Road. My ex was invited and insisted we both went. Feeling uncomfortable, I tried to make my excuses but she was having none of it so we rolled up in a Merc at 3:10pm and headed inside.

Oddly, my ex's mother was sat at a different table, unbeknown to my ex, who was quite taken aback. My ex's uncle's family were there along with Juliet's mother, father and husband on a different table. I had met the husband the night before but never Juliet's mum and dad. I hadn't met Juliet in seven years before last night but we get on reasonably well considering I have only met her about five times in the last decade. I do like her actually - bubbly blonde and fun - and as filthy and rude as I.

Apprehensions soon melted as the father and I hit it off instantly. Within five minutes I was completely at ease as we found ourselves on very similar wavelengths. Maybe it was because he's a Londoner - a broad Cockney - but we just clicked. I quite like Cockneys. Anyway, we spent the next 90 minutes cracking jokes, I had food and drink bought for me and had a thoroughly great time. They were telling me how ghastly people in Middle England villages are and we were sharing and swapping stories as if we had known each other for years. In the end, I was invited to stay at their house in the country sometime whilst Mrs Juliet wanted to take me home there and then. It was a truly brilliant afternoon although the Indian sweets which tasted like Toilet Duck weren't particularly pleasant.

After the meal we had a quick walk around Buckingham Palace, taking in some colourful modern art, before I headed to catch the Megabus from Victoria Coach Station. Remember - it may be a bus but it's certainly not mega. People started to crack after about three hours. The toilet door keeps flying open (I am right next to it), another guy thinks he's Prince and is singing discordantly whilst a 12 year old boy has visited the toilet on no fewer than eight occasions. We also discovered the lock on the toilet doesn't work which is not great when the door keeps flying open on its own accord.

So this ends my weekend odyssey - back to work tomorrow and another adventure next weekend. I am like Noddy but without the bell end. Or that big eared chap who is disturbingly 50 years his senior. Little odd that.

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