Veni, Vidi, Vici
Feb. 12th, 2018 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lupestripeThe weekend before last, we headed down to the capital to attend the Londonfurs meet, not having been to one for two years. The main motivation behind this was that I was in London anyway on business the following week, and managed to persude my work to pay for my train fare if it was of comparable price to that when I was scheduled to go. As it turned out, it was a lot cheaper, and with early February being well off peak time regarding hotel rooms, it turned out to be a rather cheap affair.
Our train out of Leeds was scheduled for 8:45pm, meaning we had quite some time to kill after work. This meant I (almost inevitably) ended up in Shuffledog, where we sampled a few beers we had not yet tried and filled some growlers up with more to take on the train. We also ate pizza in Brewdog, reasoning it was probably the easiest thing to do on a busy Friday night with all my luggage and fursuit in tow. Having sampled all of the beers in Shuffledog, we did head down to little Brewdog to grab a few more bottles, where I was told by one of the barmen that he was sad that he hadn't seen me in a skirt for Burns' Night the previous Thursday, despite promising him that I would wear one. I told him I would make good on this if I got a free pint of Punk, to which he consented, and we headed towards the train pretty happy.
The journey itself was largely uneventful apart from a silly falling out with Wolfie regarding placing the phone charger over my leg, and I just listened to podcasts as he hurtled through the British countryside. Upon arrival at Kings Cross, we boarded the Hammersmith and City line to Wembley, arriving at the hotel conveniently at 11:57pm, and thus three minutes before last orders. With two free beers due to my silver membership, we took advantage of those and discovered that the nice barman was from the Romanian city of Brasov, one of my favourite cities in the whole of Europe, so I spent quite a while discussing its merits, along with Sinaia and the southern tip of Transylvania. I was a little drunk, but he seemed to enjoy the conversation at least.
Saturday we were up at around 11am and finding ourselves with a little time, we actually had sex, which is something of a rarity these days. Still, feeling invigorated, we headed out to the furmeet, discovering rather forlornly that it was a rather grey and dismal February day. The air was heavy and the drizzle persistant, suggesting that dragging mu fursuit all the way down here was something of a waste, but we decided to take it anyway in the hope that it would pick up. Alas it didn't, and after a rather mediocre McDonald's near Wembley Park station, we boarded the Tube and headed over to St Paul's, where the meet venue was. This hasn't really changed much over the years although I did note the presence of a smaller Jamie's Too bar, which acted as the fursuit changing area. This was needed considering the sheer number of people at the meet - and this was one of the poorly attended ones - but the bar itself was very much the same, with expensive average beer to match. It was sad to see that most of the people I knew weren't there, for a number of reasons as it turned out, but at least we bumped into Gothicat, with whom it was great to catch up again. However, along with Rik McCloud, she was the only person to whom we really spoke at the meet, aside from my good friend Tom Broadbent, who popped along a little later to take photographs of Lupe. Indeed, this was probably the only reason why I decided to endure with the suit, as the walk was pretty much cancelled due to the weather. I donned my fursuit pretty much when he arrived and we took a few photos around the City Thameslink station adjacent to the bar. Aside from this, I spent about an hour just messing around underneath the station's canopy, with some tinny speakers blaring out Alestorm being the one and only highlight. 'Fucked with an Anchor' was definitely a great song to mosh to in suit, and while the gaggle of furries dancing were great fun, I didn't really connect with any of them and couldn't tell you there names now.
This seemed to be the theme of the day and aside from bumping into Churchill again, who is now based in the South having gone to university in York, it was very much slim pickings in terms of social. We largely hung around with Tom for a couple of hours as people drifted away, largely to a number of different Wetherspoons littered around the region. As I am boycotting them for political reasons, I didn't really fancy this, but I didn't really want the evening to end so early either, particularly as Tom headed home at around 6pm. I had heard that Churchill had gone to the BrewDog in Clerkenwell and as this was just fifteen minutes' walk away, we decided to head up there and see who he was with. I was expecting a group of people, but just outside the venue, we saw him walking in the opposite direction. Spotting us, he changed his mind and decided to head back to the bar, and it was at this point that we realised that he was alone. It was still great catching up with him over some tasty bar food and good beer, but we had expected to meet a couple of local furs, particularly as we knew Gothi's posse had headed over to a Wetherspoons just around the corner. Still, we needn't have worried as after our craft beer experience, we were destined for a different Wetherspoons, this one in Holborn, where around eight of Churchill's friends were waiting in the newly refurbished and quite salubrious basement away from the main throngs. These included Fabi, who we hadn't seen in ages but who also remembered us, so it was quite a good couple of hours chatting and laughing. There were a number of people here we didn't know and some were easier to meet than others, but it was largely a fun night, albeit a slightly cliquey one too. I wasn't drinking due to my Wetherspoons boycott, just taking the free water at the bar which somewhat annoyed Wolfie, and by the time the clock ticked towards 9:45pm, I suspected that we had outstayed our welcome and needed to head off. This is what we did.
With no decent craft beer venues in Wembley, we decided just to head back to the hotel and have an early night. This did mean we were up quite early the next day and decided to head down to the City once again, where Gothi had told us that the London Alternative Market was taking place. Sadly, Gothi couldn't make it due to her transport messing up the night before meaning she didn't get back home until the early hours, but we decided to go anyway. I had always wanted to go to LAM, which is essentially London's primary fetish market, and it certainly didn't disappoint. The one thing to note was that there were quite a number of stallholders who we had met at Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar back in April and indeed it was quite good to meet up with them again. The best thing about the market though was the obscure and often homemade equipment for sale. This range was far more diverse and thus more interesting than the standard stuff one would find in a fetish shop and thus engendered many new possibilities for our dungeon. Furthermore, as many of these people made these things as a hobby over profit, the prices are far far cheaper than those at professional outlets. This was particularly a delight as there were a number of devices I have coveted for years which I will now be able to buy bespoke and cheap. Meeting the stallholders was also incredibly easy, and indeed I found everyone incredibly friendly. We stayed for about an hour, with the vault-like layout of Bar Revolution being perfect for such a showcase. Indeed, it was a shame we had to go as had we known about the event and subsequent after-party before leaving Leeds, we would have perhaps made alternative arrangements for it. Still, we bought a few interesting things and made a couple of excellent contacts so I cannot complain.
The amazing thing about the City at the weekend is just how quiet it is, and this was certainly the case then. Needing a little more life, I persuaded Wolfie to head to Clapham, where a new fetish store called Fetch had just opened. I had discovered this on my AD so I thought it was worth a nosey, particularly as it was a straight trip to Clapham North from Bank, near where we were. Finding Fetch was surprisingly easy as its bright neon sign shone from underneath one of the railway arches below Clapham High Street station. Heading inside, I was expecting more to be honest as most of the items on sale here were sports clothing. There were a number of the ubiquituous Mr S dog hoods along with a few other items of pup play and fetish gear, but there wasn't an awful lot of interest. Wanting to support them though, we did pick up some lube, before we headed down Clapham High Street to a newly opened craft beer bar, The Clapham Tap. The staff in here were incredibly friendly and were very knowledgeable about their beer, while their recommendation of the Thai green curry proved to be inspired as it was one of the most delicious meals I had had in some time. Sadly, our afternoon was somewhat ruined by a long-running issue with one of the former attendees of the meet, who kept spamming me with messages for most of the afternoon, but Wolfie insisted I stopped answering and this enabled me to enjoy the ambience of the bar and the quality of the meal.
As soon as the Six Nations came on, we thought it was a good time to leave and with still a little time to kill before we had to get back to Kings Cross for Wolfie's train, we headed over to the BrewDog in Clapham, which was far further away than I thought it was. It took about half an hour to get there as we skirted across the northern edge of Clapham Common, but once we had arrived, we were delighted to discover there was a Gipsy Hill tap takeover, meaning we could have a sample tray. This gave us just enough time before we had to head back to the hotel to pick up Wolfie's stuff, along with my fursuit which Wolfie had kindly said he would take back for me. The journey was quite long and wasn't aided by the fact that the Hammersmith and City line, along with the Circle and Metropolitan lines, were closed throughout the weekend. This saw us having to make a detour via Oxford Circus, which added a fair bit of time to the journey. Still, we implemented the turnaround at the hotel very swiftly (despite being desperate for a leak due to all of the beer we had had in Clapham - those last 500m back to the hotel were excruciating) and were soon headed towards Kings Cross, where we arrived around forty-five minutes ahead of Wolfie's departure. This meant that we had some time to grab a burrito at Benito's Puppy, where we were also delighted to discover that they had the Day of the Dead lager on sale. We grabbed a couple of bottles of these and ate our tasty burritos, chatting and counting down the minutes until Wolfie had to leave. Eventually, it was time but fortunately we could have a few more minutes together as the ticket barriers were open, meaning I could get onto the platform and right on the train. This was useful due to the amount of luggage Wolfie was taking back, and it also meant we could talk as we waited for everyone else to board. Sadly, though the time soon came for the train to depart and although saying goodbye to Wolfie was tough, I did know I would be back home four days later. I consoled myself with this as I walked back to Kings Cross underground station to make the journey back to Wembley.
Our train out of Leeds was scheduled for 8:45pm, meaning we had quite some time to kill after work. This meant I (almost inevitably) ended up in Shuffledog, where we sampled a few beers we had not yet tried and filled some growlers up with more to take on the train. We also ate pizza in Brewdog, reasoning it was probably the easiest thing to do on a busy Friday night with all my luggage and fursuit in tow. Having sampled all of the beers in Shuffledog, we did head down to little Brewdog to grab a few more bottles, where I was told by one of the barmen that he was sad that he hadn't seen me in a skirt for Burns' Night the previous Thursday, despite promising him that I would wear one. I told him I would make good on this if I got a free pint of Punk, to which he consented, and we headed towards the train pretty happy.
The journey itself was largely uneventful apart from a silly falling out with Wolfie regarding placing the phone charger over my leg, and I just listened to podcasts as he hurtled through the British countryside. Upon arrival at Kings Cross, we boarded the Hammersmith and City line to Wembley, arriving at the hotel conveniently at 11:57pm, and thus three minutes before last orders. With two free beers due to my silver membership, we took advantage of those and discovered that the nice barman was from the Romanian city of Brasov, one of my favourite cities in the whole of Europe, so I spent quite a while discussing its merits, along with Sinaia and the southern tip of Transylvania. I was a little drunk, but he seemed to enjoy the conversation at least.
Saturday we were up at around 11am and finding ourselves with a little time, we actually had sex, which is something of a rarity these days. Still, feeling invigorated, we headed out to the furmeet, discovering rather forlornly that it was a rather grey and dismal February day. The air was heavy and the drizzle persistant, suggesting that dragging mu fursuit all the way down here was something of a waste, but we decided to take it anyway in the hope that it would pick up. Alas it didn't, and after a rather mediocre McDonald's near Wembley Park station, we boarded the Tube and headed over to St Paul's, where the meet venue was. This hasn't really changed much over the years although I did note the presence of a smaller Jamie's Too bar, which acted as the fursuit changing area. This was needed considering the sheer number of people at the meet - and this was one of the poorly attended ones - but the bar itself was very much the same, with expensive average beer to match. It was sad to see that most of the people I knew weren't there, for a number of reasons as it turned out, but at least we bumped into Gothicat, with whom it was great to catch up again. However, along with Rik McCloud, she was the only person to whom we really spoke at the meet, aside from my good friend Tom Broadbent, who popped along a little later to take photographs of Lupe. Indeed, this was probably the only reason why I decided to endure with the suit, as the walk was pretty much cancelled due to the weather. I donned my fursuit pretty much when he arrived and we took a few photos around the City Thameslink station adjacent to the bar. Aside from this, I spent about an hour just messing around underneath the station's canopy, with some tinny speakers blaring out Alestorm being the one and only highlight. 'Fucked with an Anchor' was definitely a great song to mosh to in suit, and while the gaggle of furries dancing were great fun, I didn't really connect with any of them and couldn't tell you there names now.
This seemed to be the theme of the day and aside from bumping into Churchill again, who is now based in the South having gone to university in York, it was very much slim pickings in terms of social. We largely hung around with Tom for a couple of hours as people drifted away, largely to a number of different Wetherspoons littered around the region. As I am boycotting them for political reasons, I didn't really fancy this, but I didn't really want the evening to end so early either, particularly as Tom headed home at around 6pm. I had heard that Churchill had gone to the BrewDog in Clerkenwell and as this was just fifteen minutes' walk away, we decided to head up there and see who he was with. I was expecting a group of people, but just outside the venue, we saw him walking in the opposite direction. Spotting us, he changed his mind and decided to head back to the bar, and it was at this point that we realised that he was alone. It was still great catching up with him over some tasty bar food and good beer, but we had expected to meet a couple of local furs, particularly as we knew Gothi's posse had headed over to a Wetherspoons just around the corner. Still, we needn't have worried as after our craft beer experience, we were destined for a different Wetherspoons, this one in Holborn, where around eight of Churchill's friends were waiting in the newly refurbished and quite salubrious basement away from the main throngs. These included Fabi, who we hadn't seen in ages but who also remembered us, so it was quite a good couple of hours chatting and laughing. There were a number of people here we didn't know and some were easier to meet than others, but it was largely a fun night, albeit a slightly cliquey one too. I wasn't drinking due to my Wetherspoons boycott, just taking the free water at the bar which somewhat annoyed Wolfie, and by the time the clock ticked towards 9:45pm, I suspected that we had outstayed our welcome and needed to head off. This is what we did.
With no decent craft beer venues in Wembley, we decided just to head back to the hotel and have an early night. This did mean we were up quite early the next day and decided to head down to the City once again, where Gothi had told us that the London Alternative Market was taking place. Sadly, Gothi couldn't make it due to her transport messing up the night before meaning she didn't get back home until the early hours, but we decided to go anyway. I had always wanted to go to LAM, which is essentially London's primary fetish market, and it certainly didn't disappoint. The one thing to note was that there were quite a number of stallholders who we had met at Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar back in April and indeed it was quite good to meet up with them again. The best thing about the market though was the obscure and often homemade equipment for sale. This range was far more diverse and thus more interesting than the standard stuff one would find in a fetish shop and thus engendered many new possibilities for our dungeon. Furthermore, as many of these people made these things as a hobby over profit, the prices are far far cheaper than those at professional outlets. This was particularly a delight as there were a number of devices I have coveted for years which I will now be able to buy bespoke and cheap. Meeting the stallholders was also incredibly easy, and indeed I found everyone incredibly friendly. We stayed for about an hour, with the vault-like layout of Bar Revolution being perfect for such a showcase. Indeed, it was a shame we had to go as had we known about the event and subsequent after-party before leaving Leeds, we would have perhaps made alternative arrangements for it. Still, we bought a few interesting things and made a couple of excellent contacts so I cannot complain.
The amazing thing about the City at the weekend is just how quiet it is, and this was certainly the case then. Needing a little more life, I persuaded Wolfie to head to Clapham, where a new fetish store called Fetch had just opened. I had discovered this on my AD so I thought it was worth a nosey, particularly as it was a straight trip to Clapham North from Bank, near where we were. Finding Fetch was surprisingly easy as its bright neon sign shone from underneath one of the railway arches below Clapham High Street station. Heading inside, I was expecting more to be honest as most of the items on sale here were sports clothing. There were a number of the ubiquituous Mr S dog hoods along with a few other items of pup play and fetish gear, but there wasn't an awful lot of interest. Wanting to support them though, we did pick up some lube, before we headed down Clapham High Street to a newly opened craft beer bar, The Clapham Tap. The staff in here were incredibly friendly and were very knowledgeable about their beer, while their recommendation of the Thai green curry proved to be inspired as it was one of the most delicious meals I had had in some time. Sadly, our afternoon was somewhat ruined by a long-running issue with one of the former attendees of the meet, who kept spamming me with messages for most of the afternoon, but Wolfie insisted I stopped answering and this enabled me to enjoy the ambience of the bar and the quality of the meal.
As soon as the Six Nations came on, we thought it was a good time to leave and with still a little time to kill before we had to get back to Kings Cross for Wolfie's train, we headed over to the BrewDog in Clapham, which was far further away than I thought it was. It took about half an hour to get there as we skirted across the northern edge of Clapham Common, but once we had arrived, we were delighted to discover there was a Gipsy Hill tap takeover, meaning we could have a sample tray. This gave us just enough time before we had to head back to the hotel to pick up Wolfie's stuff, along with my fursuit which Wolfie had kindly said he would take back for me. The journey was quite long and wasn't aided by the fact that the Hammersmith and City line, along with the Circle and Metropolitan lines, were closed throughout the weekend. This saw us having to make a detour via Oxford Circus, which added a fair bit of time to the journey. Still, we implemented the turnaround at the hotel very swiftly (despite being desperate for a leak due to all of the beer we had had in Clapham - those last 500m back to the hotel were excruciating) and were soon headed towards Kings Cross, where we arrived around forty-five minutes ahead of Wolfie's departure. This meant that we had some time to grab a burrito at Benito's Puppy, where we were also delighted to discover that they had the Day of the Dead lager on sale. We grabbed a couple of bottles of these and ate our tasty burritos, chatting and counting down the minutes until Wolfie had to leave. Eventually, it was time but fortunately we could have a few more minutes together as the ticket barriers were open, meaning I could get onto the platform and right on the train. This was useful due to the amount of luggage Wolfie was taking back, and it also meant we could talk as we waited for everyone else to board. Sadly, though the time soon came for the train to depart and although saying goodbye to Wolfie was tough, I did know I would be back home four days later. I consoled myself with this as I walked back to Kings Cross underground station to make the journey back to Wembley.
