The plan was: meet up with Andrew mid-morning and head to Saturday Worship, AKA the Apple Store, to perve over the new MacBooks etc. Then at noon a quick drink with some newchums, Rich and Chris (musical brothers). Then maybe a quiet afternoon and evening in for a change, Friday night having been a late (but sober) one up the pub involving a Dalek/gay hybrid. Long story, not filthy.
Chris texted me at 9.30am, waking me up. Was I interested in seeing the new Coen Brothers film? Followed by food? Yeah, go on then. Easily persuaded. New plan: ditch the evening in.
Borders, Apple, wander, wander, B Bar (with very much the B team serving), tea. Rich and Chris, more tea. Lunch: posh mushrooms on posh toast. Lots of discussion about GarageBand, new Macs, and James Bond. Back to the Apple Store so Andrew could demo GarageBand to the brothers. Then to the Picturehouse for more tea, passing Stephen Hawking and his gang, who were probably just heading to the Grand Arcade to cause trouble and rough up the tourists with street talk about black holes and grand unified theories, bitches.
More tea at the Picturehouse, the four of us keenly anticipating Quantum of Solace and debating the merits of Shawshank Redemption vs Ghostbusters. There was little point going home now, since I’d just sit in the dark for about ten minutes before coming out again. New plan: wander around a bit more. I did, via Heffers, Borders and Waterstones (on a mission, which I failed), before returning to a much busier Picturehouse to meet up with the post-honeymoon newlyweds plus Louise, Adrian and Andy.
Burn After Reading. Reading the activity not the place, or any sequel might reasonably be called Turn Left Before Slough. All Coen brothers tickboxes duly completed, not a lot more to say really. Funny, quirky, really surprisingly shocking in parts (as in “I was shocked” not “shockingly bad”). Ultimately, though, a little unsatisfying and I’m not sure why. Perhaps the ending.
Avaragado’s rating: a small plate of macaroni cheese
Chris had thoughtfully booked a table for six at a new restaurant, Asia, on Regent Street. It’s pan-asian cuisine, so the more radical can have a Thai starter and an Indian main, if they so desire. We’d have settled for our table, to be honest. On arrival, smack on schedule, the place was full. The harassed maitre d’ suggested we wait for ten minutes, which we did – failing to get a drink at the bar as nobody would catch our eye, despite Chris’s fluttering about. Or perhaps because of. Anyway, we were then offered a temporary table, but it was one chair short.
It looked frankly unlikely that we’d get served before keeling over from starvation. So we legged it, which I’m sure they were happy about as it freed up a table. Instead we ventured further south on Regent Street to the Curry Garden, where another five minute wait on a temporary table taunted us with deja vu. We persevered and were seated and successfully served.
Of note: a table opposite of about twenty students, all of whom looked like they’d been dressed by their blind grandmothers. First week of term, nobody to stop them, I guess. Still, I’m sure they all thought they looked lovely.
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