We drink and then we drink

It's been a fairly boozy weekend. On Friday my pal Dr H hosted a Halloween party at her flat. She left it rather late to tell us it was to be fancy dress and I'd been pretty busy with work and hadn't had time to plan (or write blog posts. Sorry.) On Friday morning I had a tiny brain wave. I have a yellow t-shirt with a 70's style print of a woman sunbathing on a each and "Amity Island" written underneath. All I needed was the shark to make it complete. And so it was that I bought a large sheet of grey cardboard from an art shop and after work charged home ready to do some papercraft. I was sensible and did a maquette first on a sheet of paper. It was just as well as my first idea of how to fold and stick it didn't work and had gone straight for the proper version I'd have been screwed. I figured out what I needed to change and then when my little paper maquette looked sharky enough I transferred the pattern to the full-size card and cut it out. The idea was to have the shark around my left leg so that the jaws were around my knee and the shark body wrapped around my calf so it appeared to be biting me. It actually worked pretty well. After about a bottle of red wine I decided, and it seemed sensible at the time, that the shark should now have fully devoured me and therefore I should take it off my leg and wear it as a hat with my happy, tipsy little face peeping out from the maw. Here is me, looking very sober having been eaten by the fish:

On Saturday I had arranged to meet up with friends in a local pub. I always make it a very relaxed affair telling everyone which pub I'll be in and from what time and then leave it up to them when and if they show up and for how long they stay. The first pub started out well and we were comfortable and a couple of pints in when we saw a large P.A. being brought in and installed followed by a load of disco lights. This pub is normally an extremely quiet Victorian boozer and this did not bode well. The bar staff then went around putting printed notices on every table to the effect that the pub had been booked out that evening for a party and we were welcome to stay until 7.30 after which time we could all piss off. This came as a shock. I have walked past the pub every weekend since T and I moved to Holborn and it never has more than about three people in it on a Saturday. It was for this reason I didn't try to book it myself, I didn't think that there'd be any need. The tipping point arrived when the P.A. was cranked up and a super tinny sounding "Red Red Wine" by UB40 came blasting out. Enough was enough. We all decamped across the road to The Dolphin where we spent the rest of the evening.

We left after eight and a half hours solid drinking and T and I came home where, as an unexpected treat to round off the day, I found that my football team, Stoke City, had beaten Arsenal 2-1. TO put that in context, it was about as likely to happen as an under-9s side is to beat Brazil. Amazing. And so I went to bed feeling very happy and a little wobbly.

All Off To Lord's

It was the Friends Provident Final on Saturday and this event saw myself, Papa Atrocity and my chum Tommy Dog meeting up at St John's Wood tube station at the unpleasantly early for a Saturday hour of half past nine. I left Schossadlerflug at 8.20 so that I could pick up supplies for lunch en route through Marylebone. Once we'd collected ourselves together we pottered up to the ground where we endured the usual security bag-poking and leg-patting that the Lord's marshalls seem to like indulging themselves in. We took our seats and Kent got us underway in a pretty lacklustre fashion with both openers falling cheaply.

Tommy Dog invented a new photographic technique which invloved stuffing the lens of a small compact digicam into the eyepiece of his binoculars to get a super telephoto image albeit with lots of vignetting and chromatic aberation. I had a go too:

During the lunch interval Tommy was able to indulge in two of his other hobbies beside cricket, those of beer drinking and reading books with pictures of tanks in them.

I stuck to the beer part.

Here is a snap of Papa Atrocity looking perplexed at Number One Son. He does that a lot.

After a few splutters, Essex did what they ought to given the target they had been set and won the game with a little to spare. Here the Essex dressing room celebrates, They are in the red sweaters on the first floor of the pavilion.

All in all a very good day with a game that had more excitement that it at first appeared it would plus I got to sit outside with my dad and a buddy for a whole without a single drop of rain spoiling procedings in spite of the weather forecast. All in all, a happy time was had by all, apart from Kent and their fans.

T Party

This weekend has been Tinsetroos Birthday Festival. She began the celebration on Thursday with dinner with her folks whilst I was at home with the flat to myself wrapping her presents. The main social event was karaoke on Friday night. Everyone knows that T likes to sing and so twelve of us packed into a wee room at Cousin Jills to belt out a few standards.

In a slight break with tradition I opted to sing Money for Nothing rather than my usual Johnny Cash numbers as I felt me and Mr Knopfler have similar vocal range (not a lot). I didn't manage the Sting parts though as they well beyond my limited range. I was quite pleased with my "Hoola moola that's the way you do, money for nothing and your chicks for free" complete with hint of geordie accent. As is traditional there was also a rendition of Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do with highly exaggerated welsh accents later on. T and her school-chum KG put everyone else to shame by actually being able to sing really well. It took a collective chorus of Europe's The Final Countdown to takes us back to the ridiculous from the sublime. This part of the evening is immortalised on video though I don't think it's really suitable for public consumption. It does prove that we'd all drunk a lot more than I remember though. Further evidence for this may be viewed below:

Yesterday T opened her presents from me which included some crazy Japanese socks, a T-shirt I designed and printed for her, Guitar Hero - Aerosmith, and a few other treats. The weather was filthy all day so we only went out for brunch and then scuttled back to Schossadlerflug until the evening when we got all dressed up and went out for dinner to Rasoi Vineet Bhatia which is a superb Indian restaurant in Mayfair. It was astonishingly good, certainly in my top ten meals I've had. Amongst the delights I had included tandoori salmon, minted chicken, duck confit with a coconut sauce and a, and this is no lie, fois gras crême brulée which was barmy but brilliant. Two and half happy hours later we rolled out back into the night and made our way home holding our contented fat bellies.

Today we've bummed around the flat as, once again, the weather has been shitty all day. As I write this T is shredding on Guitar Hero and showing Joe Perry and Brad Whitford how it's done. Metaaaaaaal!

500th Post

For my 500th post, here's a few photos of the social odds and sods I have been engaged in over the last week, it's not all that exciting but it's all I got:

Saturday was a 30th birthday party full of chums and sunshine.






Some of the guests expressed their true feelings for me.



Formation dancing occurred.



People thought deeply about the issues of the day.



And, inevitably, everybody had a go at wearing my glasses.



On Sunday at Lord's for the test match.



This was neither my first, nor last beer.



The crowd celebrates the sole wicket to fall in the day.

One More for the Road?

I've been quite the society darling this week. As always happens at the end of films quite a few people leave for pastures new. There's a mixture of things at work there. First of all because the talent pool for this type of work is relatively small people tend to travel the world over to work. At the end of a show they often want to try another country or return home. The other reason people drift away is the attritional nature of the work. People can and do burn out and have to take a few months or a year off to recuperate. This happened to me after Charlie and the Chocolate Factory so I know how the current crop of escapees feels.

On Tuesday we said good bye to our overall supervisor for the last show who's now returning to spend time with his girlfriend who he hasn't seen in three months in L.A. I don't think he's seen anything other than inside of our studio offices in those three months either. I only wanted to stay for one because I had a cold and was feeling pretty tired but I ended up having a couple but still managed to be home before ten and slept like a baby.

On Wednesday was the latest in a series of good-bye drinks/dinners/what-have-yous for my friend TR. She's in the latter camp of wanting time not working so I think she's off travelling and after that who knows. She'd heard me, and others, rant about the virtues of the fillet steak at The French House, a legendary restaurant and bar in Soho so on Wednesday she decided to book a table and a few us were asked to join. I met up with her, The Berg and Dr H for a pre-dinner cocktail straight out of work at seven o'clock and suitably relaxed we went up to the restaurant and took our table. The steak was, predictably and reassuringly, excellent as always. As an extra bonus I even got a couple of slices of the chateaubriand that The Berg and Dr H were sharing after they declared themselves full. I couldn't bear to see such deliciousness go to waste. Also I'd only had a smoothie for lunch and was ravenous by the time we sat down to eat so I didn't really feel gluttonously guilty either.

Last night Tinseltroos and I worked on fancy dress. We measured out, cut and stitched a rough-hewn waistcoat/jerkin out of fake suede for my outfit. It needs buttons and a collar but it looks pretty good already. I was very pleased to be able to rely on Tinseltroos' clothing construction experience as although I can sew and hem and such I don't have much experience beyond hemming the odd pair of trousers and so on and this was a step beyond that.

Tonight is another of TR's dos. This time our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to help her dispose of the collection of tequila that she's amassed in her flat over the last couple of years. We can only do our best of course but I think we'll be able to help out.

Another One Bites The Dust

Big Red has left the building and it's time to celebrate the fact. I'm now done with Hellboy 2 and tonight it's our WRAP party to celebrate his departure. One show down, two to go at the moment.

Tomorrow morning I shall be on trains to go and see my mum, it being her birthday. Unfortunately for me the powers that be have chosen tomorrow to do some major engineering work so I have to change trains three times and the journey is going to take four hours. Normally there are no changes and it takes two hours. Time to pack a good book and make sure the iPod is fully charged. Erk. Even better would be to not have a crushing hang-over too. Fingers crossed on that one...

Cheers

Cheers, originally uploaded by Mr Atrocity.

I have been out for the last couple of nights catching up with friends.

On Tuesday I was at The Cork and Bottle, a wine bar adjacent to Leicester Square. It is, in spite of its location, a delightful place with a stonking wine list. The four of us, TR, NH, P and myself managed to get through three bottles of excellent red, including a delicious, soft Pinot Noir from Oregon, TR's home state. You can see me here finishing off the evening with a glass of port. Yum.

In addition to the booze, The Cork and Bottle also does food, good hearty solid food. One of their specialities is their Hemingway Burger. It is, they claim, Ernest's own recipe and it is bloody good containing beef, lamb, pork, wine and spices all in hefty quantities. It is a good thing too that the food is substantial as you're never going to satisfied with just a glass or two of wine when there's so much good stuff on the list to try.

Last night I met up with my buddy S, who I haven't seen in months for a catch-up over a cocktail or two, which ended up being a cocktail or two, dinner with a bottle of wine and then the pub for a pint before heading our separate ways home. All good but I think I shall be keeping off the sauce tonight.

Five Guitar Heroes

Five Guitar Heroes, originally uploaded by Mr Atrocity.

Tinseltroos and I both managed to have a whole weekend off work which is, I think, the first time that has happened since August last year. We knew that we had guests coming over to Schossadlerflug on Sunday night so we spent Saturday getting provisions, mostly cocktail making boozes of many flavours and colours and tidying the flat to the point where it ceased to look like a demilitarised zone. This achieved we lounged back in our newly clean and tidy little abode.

On Sunday we cooked. Tinseltroos cooked an amazing vegetable korma with home-made naan bread and I did a tarte tatin again as it seemed popular last time and I thought it would cut through the creaminess of the curry. Our chums duly arrived and were fed cocktails, mostly Dark and Stormys, Manhattans and gin Martinis (Martinis are never made with vodka if I have a say in the matter). After a suitable convivial atmosphere had been established and enough food eaten we broke out Guitar Hero and spent the evening shredding with mixed degrees of success. As usual Tinsetroos won and I lost. For those without a Guitar Hero guitar we were able to use real non-plugged-in guitars so that the feeling of inclusive rock and roll could be maintained. I don't think even The Eagles had five guitarists.

Late, and with everyone pleasantly toasty, we said our goodbyes and T and took ourselves off to bed feeling very happy and contented, which wasn't only due to the drink.

Please Let the Crust Defy Gravity

Tinseltroos and I had an invitation to our friend Heg's for dinner last night. Heg had invited us and two other of her friends over as we'd expressed our interest in the pickled herring of her native Norway. I've always liked pickled herring and, via other Scandinavian friends, have had Danish and Swedish herring but Norway was a new one on me. As I didn't have to work on Saturday I asked Heg if I might make a pudding, she acquiesced and I set to reading through my cookery books on the lookout for something new. I decided, eventually, to do a tarte tatin which I have made many times before, but just to make it interesting for myself, I decided to make my own puff pastry. You can call this either bravery or plain foolishness as you please. I make a pretty decent shortcrust pastry but I have not tried puff pastry before. Before getting my hands covered in flour I consulted youTube for any helpful tutorials and found this one, by the wonderful Ms. Glaze who also writes this blog. She is a professional chef and therefore rather intimidatingly competent. Nonetheless I was adamant I would have a go. Here's a photo of the pastry after its final turn before it went back into the fridge to rest (again):

The rest of the tarte tatin preparation was very straightforward and once the pastry was rolled out and had covered the apples and caramel there was nothing to do but put it into the oven and then let it cook. I think I returned to peep through the oven door window about once every two minutes so worried was I that it would sit there, unmoving, and cook into an unappealing pastry brick. The gods must have been on my side as it did rise and actually looked quite presentable when it came out. Tinseltroos wondered what the little yelps of glee coming from the kitchen were. This was the cause:

After allowing it to cool for a couple of minutes it was ready to turn out and, ta da - the finished dish:

We had a lovely evening of Norwegian ham, elk sausage, pickled herring with boiled egg and rye bread. Tinseltroos looked disgustedly at the plate of sausage and egg. As a vegetarian who finds eggs creepy this was probably her worst nightmare on a plate. She seemed happy enough with her cheese and mushrooms though. After dinner came my pudding which seemed to go down well and following food came a couple of vodka martinis to finish the night off. Normally I am resolutely a gin man, especially in a martini, but Heg had tracked down a bottle of 42 Below, a vodka from New Zealand which was actually delicious. Probably the nicest vodka I've had. They have an irritatingly faux hip website here if you're interested. And so we said our goodbyes, wandered down the canal tow path back into Bethnal Green, got on the tube and trundled home.

Lucky Me

Yesterday after work I'd arranged to meet Tommy Dog for a cheeky couple of pints and a catch-up in The George pub just over London Bridge. When the current version of The George was built (1677) St Paul's Cathedral had only just begun construction and the only bridge over the Thames was London Bridge. Which is, of course, why The George is where it is: it was a coaching inn until such things became obsolete as the industrial revolution inexorably made transport quicker.

It's a beautiful old building with many smallish rooms, nooks and crannies. They also have their own microbrewery which does produce a fine pint of bitter. After a couple of these Tommy and I had put the world to rights so he headed south, back to his bachelor pad, and I headed back over the river to wend my way home. As I walked past St Paul's it struck me that it's a pretty good life when you get to walk past one of the most beautiful and iconic buildings in the world on your way home from the boozer.

I had an extra surprise waiting for me when I got home. Tinseltroos had, earlier in the day, asked if I would need anything when I got home in terms of dinner. My plan was to finish up the bacon I'd got at the weekend and fry that and an egg and make myself a sandwich to soak up the booze. Tinseltroos didn't buy me some bread, she baked me a loaf of bread. Imagine my delight when I got back to Schossadlerflug to find a freshly baked loaf of bread waiting. So I had my sandwich and took stock on how fortunate I am.

Manhattan Transfer

bday_IMG_0446.jpg, originally uploaded by trinamaria.

Here is me helping my chum Trinamaria celebrate her birthday on Saturday night. I had worked all day which is why I'm looking a little jaded. Well the some number of manhattans I'd had by this point may have had something to do with it too. Still any excuse for spending an evening with friends, cocktails and delicious tapas is a good one.

There was an excellent turn out of chums and the bar was lovely for the most part of the evening. After about 11.30 the (very bad) music was cranked up to ear-drum shredding levels but by that point we'd eaten and drunk enough.

The birthday girl seems happy with her choice of supper. The caipirinhas and Corona look to be helping out too.

As you can see I did my duty by the multiple bowls of chicken wings we got through.

These were the little buggers who caused my downfall however. Quel surprise. Tasty downfall, mind you.

Pancake

I worked all day Saturday but yesterday was Fake Pancake Day at my old house-mate, Tommy Dog's, flat. The clan gathered from far and wide to abuse the traditional beginning of Lent. The tradition is that all fatty food is eaten up prior to Lent so all good Christians can then spend Lent being extra devout (and hungry). As regular readers will know I am not in the slightest bit religious but I do like pancakes. So yesterday became a feast of pancakes and booze. Here are some photos: