I think I have found the perfect way to spend Sunday afternoons when the weather is nice. It wasn’t particularly warm yesterday but it was sunny so Sanna and found a café to sit outside in the middle of Soho just off Dean Street and watched the passing traffic and talked about things like the inexplicable sexiness of David Tennant, nudity in different cultures and why anyone would still own a fur coat. The café was clearly set up for exactly this purpose since the chairs were facing out to the street rather than facing each other with the table between them.
I love the atmosphere in that part of the West End. Directly over the road from us were two sex shops and the street was populated with queens of every age gushing over each other and prancing around in outfits that included things like bowties and shiny blue winkle-pickers. It was an absolute visual feast. The tourists weaving through the chaos seemed slightly puzzled though. Ah, Londres… you will forever own my heart.
We ended the afternoon by heading back up to Oxford Street and popping into Topshop to try on shoes. All of my summer shoes are in pieces and I have nothing to wear in Australia. I wanted something practical that would go with lots of things. Only in my world would that equal a pair of sky blue plastic gladiator sandals.
In other news, RLHB is coming around for dinner again tomorrow night. Now I have to find something else to not poison him with…
You guys know I’m woefully untidy right and order freaks me out? Well it turns out there are exceptions to the rule. I was at a training course yesterday where I was designated to be the “reporter” for my group and had to put together the visual representations of our tasks using post it notes. It turns out if you give me post its I develop OCD and Nazi tendencies. I colour coded everything, refused 2 let anyone touch my post its and stuck everything very carefully in straight lines and the minute anyone moved my post its, I could feel panic overtaking me. Where did this come from? Who is the crazy post it lady? Can someone buy me some post its for my birthday? I have an idea for a sculpture.
I met up with RLHB again last night. We went to Covent Garden for a couple of drinks and then dinner at this gorgeous little brasserie called Palm Court. It was a random pick but a good one. The atmosphere was awesome, the food was delicious and the service was great, especially by London standards. I suppose it was kinda romantic without being cheesy and somehow we ended up standing in the street listening to this amazing poet that RLHB loves on his ipod… and again… snogging. Must have been a puzzling sight for the passing traffic. Can’t say I was particularly bothered. We’re going to catch up again during the week. There are plans to watch Spinal Tap and for me to figure out some other dish to try not to poison him with!
I popped into Self Sacrifice yesterday to let Cèsar get a look at his handiwork now that the tattoo is very much on the healing stretch. You’ve got to realise that you may have spent too much time in a tattoo shop when everyone greets you with such warmth as you arrive. Cèsar of course got me to lift up my top so he could see how the tattoo was doing, what I hadn’t expected was for him to call around another four of the (male) tattoo artists to join in the inspection. It’s not everyday you end up with five men intently examining your naked stomach and nattering away to each other in Portuguese. And may I say the examination involved quite a lot of touching. Strangely it was not awkward at all. I suppose to them my stomach is a piece of art rather than a body part. You will all be glad to know that it is healing well but will need a couple of touch ups when I get back from Aus. I left with many hugs and much love and a request to bring gifts from my holiday. Cheeky!
Thoughts going through my head right now:
- They have put new doors in separating my section of the office from reception. Feel like I’m in a cage.
- My Priscilla Queen Of The Desert, The Musical tickets have arrived. I shouldn’t be this excited, should I?
- Hell or glory. I don’t want anything in between.
- How did I miss that Trace “Papercut Hips” Cyrus and Miley “Leave My Beaver” Cyrus were brother and sister. Wonder how dad, Billy Ray, feels about Metro Station’s lyrics about paying junkie lesbians for sex.
- Why am I so damned sleepy? I went to bed at 11.20pm last night!
- How early in the morning is too early for chocolate?
- In between the tattoo and the allergies I’m not sure any part of me doesn’t itch. Considering removing my skin as an escape mechanism.
- How did my wrist get so sore?
- Thomas Dutton is a genius. Why doesn’t someone actually make Razia’s Shadow as a stage production?
- Why is all the rum gone?
Trace, Miley and Billy-Ray Cyrus
Date two with RLHB happened last night. Once again racked with nerves. It’s easy to make conversation with a bar when you’re both a bit tipsy but having someone at your house requires you to entertain them to some degree and if you suddenly have nothing to say it can get very awkward very fast.
Fortunately, once again I was worrying about nothing. RLHB and I settled straight into taking the complete piss out of each other, telling band stories and making out. He claimed to like my cooking, although while I was putting the pasta together, we had discussed the fact that he would have to tell me he liked it even if he didn’t. So I am choosing to believe that he genuinely did enjoy it.
I then subjected him to Everything Is Illuminated. It’s kind of a litmus test for me. It’s a properly surreal film and half of it is in Ukrainian so it’s not to everyone’s taste. He passed the test though since he seemed really into it.
In the end RLHB was sent home to face the night bus yet again. I am taking whatever this little thing between us is at my pace and trying to learn from past bad judgment.
Now we wait and see if there will be a third date…
Oh… I do not feel well but if you drink seven or eight pints of frulli you must bear the consequences.
So last night I had a date with the real live human boy at Project Orange, which is a rock bar in Clapham. I kinda like that nickname so we’re going to call him that or RLHB for short. I’ve got to admit that on the way to meet RLHB I was really nervous. He seemed so good on paper (or onscreen is maybe more apt since it was an internet date) that I was convinced it could only go horribly wrong… optimism, not my strong point.
Fortunately my concerns were unfounded… not only was RLHB as cute as his pics… he was even more interesting than his emails had indicated. We whiled away the evening talking about gigs (it’s borderline frightening how many of the same gigs we’ve been to), inspecting each others’ tattoos (he got two of his in Vince Neil’s tattoo shop in Vegas… could he be any cooler?) and exchanging random band encounter stories.
I might have kissed him… ok we might have made out in a corner like teenagers and we might even have already made plans to see each other on Sunday. He might even have insisted on waiting for me to get my bus causing him to miss his. I might kinda sorta like RLHB…
In other news my mum bought her ticket today to come and visit in London in September and they’re opening a visa centre in Port Elizabeth which is going to make it so much easier for her to get everything sorted. I am so excited.