2/7

Should I be concerned that I am finding it quite difficult to find things I like and wish to write about? Obviously I like more than seven things, were it otherwise then I would certainly be concerned. It's just that very little seems to present itself in anything more than a half-hearted sense. But I've just had a thought: what has been tagged numerously on KorE?, Champagne!

Now I enjoy the odd drink every now and then. Yestereve I enjoyed a lovely glass of port with a friend. The day before an ordinary Scotch whisky with the merest hint of water. Followed not much later by some cider and ultimately some champers. In my defense, I was out at the time and in any other situation I would not mix, least of all so haphazardly. I am also partial to sherry, both dry and sweet. But the one thing I will absolutely never turn down, perhaps to my detriment, is a nice glass of bubbles. Prosecco, sekt, cava, sparkling wine and of course the Holy Grail, I'm not usually too bothered (assuming it tastes all right).

I adore that first sip... The bubbles effervescently tickling the tongue, allowing the delicate notes of the wine to appreciate, the golden aroma so teasing; demanding more. And more. I mean I'm no wine buff. The local tabloid is currently poking a great deal of fun at the pretenses of professional wine tasters. Not that I am much bothered by their outdated and pathetically partial reporting. Think the Daily Mail lite. With more adverts. In fact I am bothered by it, but not bothered about it - it being 'that which they report'. But I digress. So I really enjoy a good bubbly, and not simply for the drink itself, but its connotations. The sense of grandeur and elevation it conjures, the decadence. Holding a champagne coupe and I am transported to Prohibition America, the 1960's and Mad Men or even the 17th century English aristocrats who first used the glass. Even the unlikely legend that the original was modeled on the breast of Marie-Antoinette thrills me. And with Wimbledon providing me with lasting evening entertainment, I wish so very much I were there too, enjoying a champagne in the sunshine on Henman Hill. Just glorious.

Another enjoyable aspect is of course, the sociability of the drink. In a strange way champagne is one of the indirect reasons for this blog's existence. At last year's Proms in the Park, my mother and I sat down to a very makeshift bin liner/scarf picnic rug with a few nibbles and a bottle of the Widow. Our neighbour's curiosity was aroused by this juxtaposition. That and our age difference. Striking up conversation, it was simply one of those moments one can only attribute to fate and I am eternally grateful. The rest, as they say, is history. More recently at a friend's 21st, a vast amount of the stuff was quaffed, and possibly the majority by myself. It certainly felt like it the next day, but all the merry chatter was such fun. And there you are: one might have a whisky, a glass of wine, even a beer; alone. However champagne is a drink that I could never envisage truly enjoying alone. Once my income level increases, I shall of course substitute water with champagne, naturally. But until such time, non. To fete, to celebrate, to share in joy and to commiserate, there is nothing quite like champagne. And that is precisely why I like the stuff.

January 24th

I planned to do pieces in retrospect. Opening up my diary randomly, I came to the 23rd and the 24th of January 2009. I cannot decode my notes from the 23rd (a total of 5 supposedly significant words) so naturally that left only the particularly cold winter Saturday.


The birthday of my Swedish friend Nina, it was unusually busy. Some time beforehand I volunteered to help Lucinda with Kit4Kids at one of the halls in Barnes. The early morning was unfortunate, but other than that it was a simple matter of manning one of the clothing stalls. My retail experience was blatantly obvious, and I thoroughly enjoyed charming all the yummy Barnes mummies. At the height of the credit crunch, I think they were expecting a much stronger showing, at least a more useful politician:citizen ratio. Thanks awfully Lib Dems. An enormous help, I am sure.

My brownie points won, I got on with the rest of the day. Mainly costume choosing for the evening. I don't recall the theme (I invariably bend them), but it led me to white everything bar a llama wool waistcoat of interesting colours. Visible in fact, in my profile picture. . A-ha! I found it in Memories of Mortlake a very sweet shop run by a German lady, trying to sell a very bizarre accumulation of "pieces". One's rubbish is another's etc. Certainly helps satiate one's inner voyeur.

Being my friend's birthday, her choice of dinner venue. She is vegetarian, an ism I follow part-time, though less and less of late. So therefore the cuisine is something I enjoy, but being me I know where it is reliably good, inexpensive and in a good area (IMHO of course). She chose Blah Blah Blah of Shepherd's Bush. A rather serious mistake, but there's only so far one's influence stretches! While pleasantly decorated, the service was PAINfully slow. Despite being the only people there, the staff seemed entirely uninterested. From memory we ordered at 7pm-ish. Fine, though we had been there almost an hour already. Naturally by that time + wine, people are hungry, and getting irritable. Of course we are all adults and able to control ourselves, but as time went by, things deteriorated.

It turned out that half the people there weren't really friends of Nina's, but more people that had gathered together through friends and had asked to come along. Most of the people there, she disliked immensely, but with mutual friends and in the hope of avoiding awkwardness, the poor thing graciously allowed all these effective strangers to her dinner. I didn't help by bringing along my best friend whom Nina hadn't met, though I am assured we were the most welcome there by far. Here's hoping.

Finally at about 9.30pm our food arrived. Passable, but after two and a half hours of hunger pains anything will do. Certainly NOT worth such a weight. And too late to avoid outbreaks of rather emphatic debates. The worst began with a flippant comment about whisky. I had said something along the lines of:

"Good whisky should be enjoyed with a very slight splash of water," or something similarly pretentious.
This prompted some backlash, followed by ferocious support from the BFF. Then an incredibly nasal, Australian voice rang out:
"I like my Jack Daniel's with coke."
"Oh my god, what a classless individual!" blurts out the BFF.

Oh dear. The classless individual in question stormed off, pausing at the stairs to shout "Are any of you classless individuals coming with me?!" before disappearing. The stunned silence was punctured suddenly by half the table reluctantly deciding to follow her. This left four of us: Nina, her boyfriend, BFF and myself. Bless the birthday girl, she laughed and said how relieved she was most of them had gone. Mollifying my mortified friend, a little at least. Left with all the wine, we carried on merrily.

Having caused enough trouble for one evening, the BFF departed en taxi, while we headed East for Electrotherapy IV. A new-ish charity night begun by a friend of mine and still going strong, though in a new location at Elephant & Castle, I believe. We didn't stay long. Just long enough to dance a little, but my music tastes had moved on, I must say.

During said dance, this friend came up to me and unbuttoned my shirt, telling me it looked frigid and that I would never get a boyfriend if I carried on like that. Well! What presumptuousness. Firstly, who is to say I don't already?! And secondly, boyfriend... You can't just assume these things! It's as offensive to a man as the assumed pregnancy of a woman without child. Well so I assume, anyway. Possibly this put me in less of a mood for the evening, and we cut things short, Nina and her then boyfriend heading to Canary Wharf and myself to seek bagels and then the night bus to Stratford.

Have I now learnt anything? Ayo Gorkhali.