The map apparently said that my Nintendo would be fucked. Ah well. Hope I don't get run over on the way out of the shop. Surely now I have prepared myself for the possibility then it won't happen. Well you say that, but look at my most recent prediction....
I had a rather lovely day off today, first going for a walk up to Highgate and having Sunday lunch in
The Flask pub which according to the date above the door predates the Great Fire of London (just 1663). It is rare to get a whole Sunday off (my gig tonight was canceled), but I think I am going to try and make sure it happens more often, as it's rather lovely to relax with a roast lunch and a couple of pints of ale, especially after being so fit and healthy for the rest of the week.
Later I went ten pin bowling in
Queensway, which was also enjoyable, though I felt like a 40 year old man when I found out how much it cost. It was £6.50 per person per game. That's 65p a go or 32.5p a ball. How do the disaffected youth afford to come here? It was £52 for four games, which probably only lasted for a little bit over an hour (in fact it took us from the start of the European Cup final to just into the second half. That's very expensive don't you think? I could almost buy a new Nintendo DS for that.
Still, free shoe hire.
And next time I might go down in really rubbish shoes on their last legs and then just not swap back at the end. Then I'd get my money's worth. Those bowling shoes are cool.
I finished off the day with a very charming Thai meal in
Notting Hill, only slightly spoiled by the arrival of three very pissed, posh youngsters who came and sat at the next table. The drunkest girl, who had a mini Amy Winehouse hairstyle and the poshest voice of all was the most distracting, keeping shouting that she was about to be sick, which wasn't really what I wanted to hear as I was tucking into my satay. She was also vociferously railing against eating chicken, as there was no way you could confirm it was free range in a place like this. The guy with her agreed and suggested pork and then said, "Well the conditions for pigs are probably no better."
"I don't care about pigs," said the drunk girl, "Who cares about pigs? The programme I saw was about chickens. I haven't seen a programme about pigs, so that's OK." Which somewhat dented her high-minded protest.
I actually quite enjoyed having them there though. They were quite funny. Though being upset with 20 somethings being drunk in a restaurant once again confirms that I am turning into a grumpy old man. And with less than two weeks to my 41st birthday I am getting well into my forties too.
God that year went fast.
