Sunday, November 23, 2008

camden sundays

The wedding was wonderful. Flaky friend actually did put in an appearance, and was utterly charming and humble in a way that made me feel terrible for ever having questioned his friendship. He's a PR guru, that one. I reckon he could talk the world out of recession if somebody would let him.

Minor crisis of the evening was MC having his cash card swallowed by the local ATM. He was partied out before me, so without thinking I dispatched him home in a taxi with the rest of my cash and my card - only to realise at 5am when the rest of us finally called it a night that I had no way of a)contributing to our rather enormous bar bill and b) obtaining a cab fare. I am eternally grateful to my best friend for coming to the rescue on both counts - otherwise I would still be sitting in a strange south london bar wondering forlornly how to pay for the lashings of pear cider (why?) We had merrily guzzled.

Today I had arranged to meet the fabulous Peabody for a general mooch around Camden. In the depths of a rather horrific hangover the sensible option seemed to be to drive over there.


I soon descended into a whole new layer of hell as my satnav sent me in the same circle around primrose hill 4 times before proudly announcing that I had reached my destination when I blatantly hadn't.

I was by this point half an hour late, and Peabody, having randomly arrived half an hour early from considerably further away, was esconced in a chalk farm pub all alone. I was texting her to explain my predicament when the police pulled me over to tell me off for using the phone. It was the final straw. The hangover, the lostness and my brush with the law overwhelmed me and I grovelled tearfully.

They let me off and even gave me directions to the pub so all was okay in the end. After a couple of hours of aimless pottering around the market buying random tat, we popped to Amy Winehouse's local, the Hawley Arms, for refreshment. It wasn't too bad in there - lots of police outside (I instinctively put my phone out of sight, even though there are clearly no rules about walking and texting) - inside was fairly small and cheerful, full of expensively scruffy-looking media types drinking red wine and guinness.

Didn't spot the Wino, although just as we were leaving some pissed up woman screeched 'you stupid c**t' across the bar so maybe she was on her way.

6 comments: said...

Pear cider is the drink of the Gods.

zuzula said...

you think?!

Mkononi said...

I drank nothing but pear cider at bestival this year. Nice, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the swamp I was drinking it in

The Blonde Blogshell said...

We don't get Pear Cider...maybe that's a good thing LOL
Oh and I found it funny that policemen directed you (in your car) to a pub. Am I the only one who finds the humour in that? LOL

Zoe said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Peas on Toast said...

hahahahahahah :)

'you stupid cunt'. I love that, and that's just ONE of the reason I want to live in London - for those sorts - although if my satnav broke, I'd be completely fucked ;)