Showing posts with label Nightlife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nightlife. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

April swales bring Big Bumba snails


True to form, April Showers are here, but rather than bringing May flowers, I have stumbled across a new variation of the adage. Living in my wellies and permanently sheltered under my brolly, my line of vision has seldom wavered from the slippery red bricks that line the 0.7mile walk to the tube from my flat. It was with this focused gaze today that I saw not one, not two, but THREE Big Bumba snails on my way to and from work.
Tough picture, will search for a non-nocturnal one to replace this

For those who may be missing the reference here – Big Bumba (buhm-bah) is a longstanding family word, originating on, what else, the good old softball diamond. Primarily used to aid in teaching the receiving position of the first baseman, with applications to participation in run-downs as well as the act of catching stealing runners, Big Bumba was The Skip’s go-to term for describing why you needed to get out of the way of the runner. Modestly using himself as a Big Bumba example, The Skip would “barrel” down the line (by barrel I mean shuffle his feet, move his head from side to side, and wave his arms around) to mock run into/knock down whoever was standing in his way. It has since become the standard term used for any being that is extremely larger than the norm. (and in softball, they were more likely to be Bumbas than non)

It should also be noted that this was very much contradictory to everything he taught me about soccer, preaching to his little munchkin daughter “the bigger they are the harder they fall,” but that’s neither here nor there for this story.

Back to the snails. Growing up in Long Island you never would have blinked twice if you saw a monster slug crawling across your driveway, but THIS was something I couldn’t ignore.  These were the English, more proper, slightly better dressed slugs from my childhood! Seems that over here even the mollusks are stuffy and pretentious enough to always cover up with extravagant, vintage shells. 

Until this wet weather subsides I would imagine I will be seeing more of my single muscular footed, mucous layering, hard-backed friends, and I will keep a running tally, so far Snooty Snails - 3, Slum-of-the-earth Slugs - 0. I guess no one told the snails that London was in a drought right now, with the Environment Agency last week extending the drought zone up to Derbyshire (wherever that is?)?? I think Big Bumba begs to differ with that decision.

English word of the day: Put paid to = an expression which means to put an end to something. For example you could say that sun put paid to the snail invasion, meaning they stopped venturing out once it stopped raining.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

We're here to see the Mayor


Another eventful weekend in Londontown. From a 1920 Speakeasy to an American sport bar, my adventures certainly ran the gamut. Let’s stick to the fun stuff, the secret password bar. So we went to this place, The Breakfast Club, which looked like a diner. A diner with a DJ. We’ll call it the staging area. Reading online reviews we were instructed to approach the list keeper/bouncer, which we interpreted to mean the biggest guy in the bar, and say the magic words. Finding the Big Man we say, under our breath of course, this is a secret club – we’re no amateurs;

“We’re here to see the Mayor”


Ushered to a table in the midst of the dance-party-DJ-diner, Big Man told us to order some drinks and the mayor would be along shortly. Only a few carafes of sangria later he was ready for us. Rising to gather our things, Big Man directed us to the door, the refrigerator door that is, and down the stairs to see the “Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town.” On the other side of the fridge the atmosphere was completely different and they certainly achieved their step back in time vibe. It was one of those moments where I really wanted to take pictures but at the same time felt like I really shouldn’t take pictures. Here’s an idea of what the door to the bar looked like, but I’ll stop here. You have to see for yourself what the downstairs was like, that’s a secret I’m not willing to give up.  The quick and dirty, it was all wood, dimly lit, and had amazing bartenders who were incredibly attentive and into their mixology.  



Once we got our fill of the secret dungeon, we decided to exit, this time through the back entrance of a bathroom so it looked like we were just using the loo that whole time. Instructions on some of the menus downstairs told us to get creative with this exit, maybe even leave some toilet paper remains on a shoe as we left. Playing it cool we rejoined the party-before-the-party area where the DJ was still spinning jams.  Danced a little more and we were off. 

Strange turn of events...we actually ended the night at the Queen of Hoxton (see earlier post). Apparently not that sketchy when you go in with a group of people! I was just, er, scouting it out the first time I went. I knew we'd be back.

English word of the day: When you are asked if you want your coffee "white" they are asking if you want milk in it. AND in the office if one of my coworkers takes orders to run downstairs and get us coffee,  they ask "red, green, or blue?" Uhhhhh…..see blank stare. They then realize, ah American, ok whole milk (red), 1% (green), or skim (blue)? Got it. No clue ordering coffee could be so colorful! How’s that to brighten your day!

Monday, October 24, 2011

The Queen of Hoxton vs. The Book Club


It was my first weekend night out on the town and I knew I was in store for a good one when I looked up the place my Harvard friends told me to meet them at. The Book Club:

Bringing together wit, wisdom and enough food and drink to see you through from early breakfast to a nightcap at last orders at the bar, The Book Club offers a cultural revolution to the East End’s social scene. The Book Club fuses lively, creative events and late night drinking seven days a week with an alternative menu of brain-teasing and mind-expanding thought for food in the form of workshops, talks, cultural showcases, parties, ping pong, pool and the best in new music.
Typical Harvard, typical…

The only challenge was getting there. Trying to limit my transfers because I hate the triple transfer, I got off a few stops earlier, which lent itself to a bit of a walk. Fine, it was nice out, not raining, would be fun to explore this part of the city a bit more from aboveground. Three wrong turns later and I saw a neon lit sign and a long line with fun music oozing through the window cracks. Unfortunately I couldn’t really tell what the sign said, need to get my eyes checked I guess, but I didn’t think this place was my final destination. I kept walking a little bit and finally asked a stranger if they knew how to get to The Book Club. He laughed in my face and said it’s right behind me, directing me back to the neon oasis. I gave in and went back, thinking maybe my friends were inside at the bar and not waiting outside for me like they said they would be. I paid my cover, and bee lined it for the bathroom, sending a quick “I’m here” text to the people I was meeting. Once my bladder was emptied and we went through the charade of see-saw texts saying I’m standing near x, or meet me at y, and after I had covered every inch of the place, I decided there was no way we were in the same bar.

Marching straight up to the bouncer I say, “Excuse me is this the book club?” Long pause, puzzled look…”No, never heard of it.”

Out the door I went, straight to the nearest taxi stand and I was off, only to have him drive me around the corner to the real Book Club. See map.

Moral of the story, my phone’s gps is the worst, and if something doesn’t appear to be what you’re looking for, most likely it’s not. For a visual…

                                 The Book Club                                 vs.                       The Hoxton Queen

This is where I was trying to go...
This was where I went originally...it looked very different in the nighttime!!

I eventually figured it out, have no fear.

English word of the day: Advice slip = receipt. Here I was trying to take out money at the "cash machine" to pay my nice taxi driver for bringing me around the block and I get to a screen that mockingly asks if I want an advice slip. Hell, I could have used some advice BEFORE I went into some sketchy bar hoping to find friends...but thanks for offering.