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Friday 21st October 2011

Celebrating the birth of my wonderful girlfriend gave me a day away from work and wankers (mainly). So I left all the tits behind for 24 hours (I am of course referring to the subject of the third Objective show).
We went for a super posh lunch at the Dorchester hotel. As a man who prefers Nandos or Pizza Express (or if I am in a sophisticated mood Itsu) this was quite a step up in the dining stakes. And for a day at least I wasn't going to be calorie counting. I am not sure they have "Spicy Crab and Brocoletti" on "MyFitnessPal" anyway. The food and service was exceptional, though I don't think I will ever feel totally comfortable or at home in this environment and Ian Nando could teach the chef a few things (everything would have been much better if it had been coated in extra hot Nando's sauce). It was decadent to be drinking pink champagne at lunchtime. In fact just drinking alcohol at lunchtime is something I never do any more (and was never massively into at any point). I don't have the capacity for drinking that I once did and was concerned that I might just fall asleep all afternoon, though I managed to stay awake, just (I almost nodded off a couple of times in the evening at the theatre).
It was interesting to see how the other half live - and I don't think the recession is hitting this place too hard as the massive central lobby was packed with people having afternoon tea. But I guess at the fall of any empire the rich are still stuffing their faces as the city burns around them.
I wouldn't like to do this every day (partly because I would explode) but it was an incredible experience, lunch lasted over three hours and I was full enough not to need any more food for the rest of the day (and maybe weekend).
We walked around London, a little tipsy, passing the few hours until the play started. We headed from Mayfair up to Oxford Street, taking the back streets. I am constantly amazed by how little I know about London given how long I have lived here. Just off the main thoroughfare on (I think) Duke Street there was a structure I had never seen, with a squat white tower at the end and steps leading upwards. My drunken interest was piqued enough to go and have a look up the steps, not knowing what would be at the top or even if we were allowed. But it turned out that up the stairs was a paved area with benches on it, where a few people were sitting. It was quite expansive and surprising to find in the heart of the city and I have no idea what it was or why it was there, or what the little towers at either end were for. I tried to google it, though found nothing about it quickly so gave in. So I can't tell you what it was or how long it had been there or whether it only appears once a century to people who are drunk enough to see it. I almost don't want the mystery solved.
But now a little more sober I have been able to find out about it It's Brown Hart Gardens and the building is an old electricity substation. That's a shame. I was hoping it wasn't real and I was Harry Potter. But if you drink at lunchtime then you become Harry Potter believe me. I might have to drink all day every day to see what other magical things appear.
And last word (let's fucking hope) on gervaisgate goes to Robin Ince who seems to have also mediated an exit strategy in this war and elicited an apology (not utterly convinced by argument, but I think it's best to accept it and move on). Read his blog here. I hope the events of this week have ultimately done some good and have raised awareness of disability issues.

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