The London Arc: One Fateful Evening

It was one of them normal days. A nice late brunch and we were off looking at this place and that. Diving into this tube station, emerging from that. The usual stuff. Evening came and off we went to a watering hole for the standard issue thirst quenching and stimulating conversation. This particular place was nice and cozy and we sunk into our seats. The barkeep was a little weird though. When I asked for ice she loaded the glass with ice, I mean, there wasn't place for the drink. Luckily Joe Cynic gave lip. "Hey," he quipped to me, "That's too much ice. Stand up for your rights. Remember, the customer is always right." So, I step up and deliver the message. The barkeep let out the longest, deepest sigh ever and said (with a exasperated face and Australian accent), "But you asked for ice!" I suppose the barkeep probably went back home to her list of "Why I hate Indians." and penned down the incident there. Ach, well, can't be helped I suppose.
Anyway, the evening went on nicely. Until two shady guys walked in. And stood behind the F.W. Kid's and Joe Cynic's chairs, that is, facing the Sleeper and self. Unfortunately, my spidey senses were on vacation that day. So there was no tingling sensation. Or anything. The Shady Guys hung around until we stopped noticing them. They blended into immediate background,so to speak. Time went on and the conversations intensified to the point where physical demonstrations became necessary. On this note the F.W. Kid twisted in her chair and her hands dove into her bag, or rather, where her bag should have been. Hanging on the back of her chair. "Where's my bag?" she said, "You guys! Stop fooling around. Give it back." The three of us smiled like dorks, each one suspecting the hand of the other two in the ol' sneak-the-bag-away-when-the-person-wasn't-looking gag. "Where is it? Give it back," she continued. The three of us exchanged fading (aforementioned) dork like smiles and then we all looked at the F.W. Kid.
And in the same instant of eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror the four of us came to the same conclusion. The bag had vanished. Soon after that Reason returned to her throne and then we had another of those simultaneous eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror moments. Somebody whacked the bag. And it didn't take another revelation to realize that it was them Shady Guys who'd done this. T'was them damn Shady Guys.
In the ensuing panic I'm not really sure what happened. But at the end of it we were politely informed by the staff that if we wanted to view footage from the pub's CCTV cameras we'd have to file a complaint with the cops and then head back here. So, we headed to the nearest police station and tried to make a complaint. Tried, because apparently there's only one cop from the entire building at the reception desk. Anyway after all that, the F.W. Kid insisted that we continue with the plan and head to the the Lebanese place. Gallant, I must admit. Which we did. In retrospect, I wonder if it was a smart move.
We got to the place and the Sleeper decided he needed some money. So while the rest of us parked ourselves at the spot and set about ordering hookah's and what not, the Sleeper took off to find an ATM. We'd settled down, when the Sleeper came back, his eye's bulging and a V shaped frown marring his features. "What the fudge is wrong with this place", he blurted out as he collapsed into a chair. It didn't take much to coax the story out of him. Apparently, when he was trying a make a transaction, a lad with a newspaper approached him. "Newspaper?" went Newspaper Lad. The Sleeper politely declined. Newspaper Lad became pushy. Placing the newspaper over the ATM keypad he continued pestering the Sleeper. The Sleeper politely declined. Again. But by this time his Spidey senses were tingling (I guess) and he shoved Newspaper Lad away. And ,lo and behold, there was a solid two hundred pounds emerging from the ATM. Apparently Newspaper Lad was waited till the Sleeper had punched in his ATM code before moving in with his newspaper technique. Covering the keypad with the newspaper and punching in a random number was the next step. If it weren't for the Sleeper's vigilance *cough, cough* Newspaper Lad would have made it. So, next time you're at an ATM ...... watch out.
Anyway, the rest of the evening was pretty decent. Fruit flavored hookah, Lebanese food and tea was good for our shaky systems. Well, it calmed down the F.W. Kid and the Sleeper and soon they were back to normal.
That's it for now. With the next post, I close the London Arc. (Finally!!)

The London Arc: The Good Life

Like I said earlier, Christmas was when everyone took a week off and things began to happen. The original plan with regard to food was to stay at home and cook. That was a sound plan...until Joe Cynic introduced me to Weatherspoons. If you're thinking of some old butler looking chap serving tea and crumpets on a silver tray, let me stop you right there. The Weatherspoons chain of pubs probably serves the cheapest food in London's pubs. Relatively cheaper anyway. This was the place where I dug into the English food stuffs. The infamous English Breakfast lived up to its reputation. Bacon, sausages, eggs, hash browns, toast, baked beans-the whole works washed down with a nice cup of coffee. All artery clogging stuff I admit, but...whaddya gonna do? Their all day specials were just as inviting. Chops, steaks roasts and what not. Of course, the desserts were the best. I don't know who invented sticky toffee pudding, but the chappie deserves an award. (On a related note, I'm pretty sure my sweet tooth is going to take over my mind and after that the whole world.)
The week almost ended up like a hunt-for-the-Weatherspoons-in-this-area game. Almost.
Here are some facts which I think everyone ought to know before they head to London (and its pubs):
# Pudding is sometimes served with breakfast.
# Pudding isn't gooey and served in a bowl. At least the ones accompanying meals aren't. They're solid food and you need a knife and fork to deal with 'em. So why are they called pudding? Beats the hell out of me.
# Mince pies don't contain mince. Actually they don't contain meat at all. Just sweet stuffing. And they don't come in (pizza) pie size. Sure, they're pie shaped, but they fit on the palm of your hand.
# Alcoholic ginger beer is not a sissy drink. Its refreshingly delicious. (Try it, ya big sissy!)
Apart from all the pub hopping, there were the standard issue weird guys I seem to attract on all my adventures. This post wouldn't be complete without a mention of them.
One evening we were at Joe Cynic's favourite pub. A nifty place, with plenty of metal themed ornaments all over the place. (Would a coffin with a skeleton bride propped up next to it qualify as an ornament? Hmmmm...). To complete the picture, there were tattoo encrusted, earlobe pierced dudes and dudettes all over the place. Dudes with long hair and dudettes with short hair. Joe Cynic told me to keep me eyes peeled when I was on my way to the loo. I did and it was interesting. The narrow stairway to the loos in the basement were covered with metal themed posters. Some really fancy artwork . Take a gander whilst you're there. The name of the pub you ask? Ah yes, silly me. Its called the Intrepid Fox.
So, on one of my trips to the loo, while I'm at the works, this goth chap pulls up next to me. The skinny, long haired variety. Since (as you probably already know) I'm used to life's onslaughts, I kinda anticipate weird stuff before it actually happens. I steeled myself and continued with my business. The Goth Chap didn't disappoint. A couple of seconds after he'd pulled in he started moaning.
"Oh, Yeah!!", "C'mon", "Oooh", "Aaaah" went the Goth Chap taking an occasional gander at me. At this point I'm thinking "What am I? Flypaper for freaks?" (Hahaha...sorry couldn't resist. I love that line. My due apologies to the copyright holder). Anyway, I finish up, zipper up and make a break for it. The Goth Chap breaks into a sheepish smile. "Heh heh..sorry man, was just trying to freak you out". Ohh!! Reeaaaaally?? Almost worked, bub. Almost.
Another evening at the Weatherspoons. Some old chap at the adjoining table suddenly strikes up a conversation with us. "So, enjoying your food? Eh? Eh?" My spidey senses were tingling. I leaned towards my plate and concentrated on cramming my face with the chow. Joe Cynic on the other hand dove right into the conversation. Just experimenting, he always says. Too each his own, I always say. Anyway, the Old Chap didn't disappoint either. "Can I have the last bit of your meal? Well, can I?" My mouth is full so I don't reply. For the next few minutes I concentrate of shoveling in forkfuls of food to maintain the status quo. Joe Cynic catches on fast. The fists on his fork and spoon tighten and he begins shoveling too, saying stuff like, "No no no. C'mon. We've got to eat." "Where's your Christian Sprit? Where is it? I'm a Catholic, you know", goes the Old Chap. We get a break when another chap comes along and reclaims his laptop bag (from the looks of it) which the Old Chap apparently 'took' from him. The newcomer pauses to eyeball the Old Chap. It doesn't work of course. The Old Chap just brazens it out. "Oh? What? Its yours?" or some such stuff. The good part is we're done with the meal. And then, off we went.
On one occasion we went to a pantomime, courtesy of the Financial Whiz Kid. It was a nicely done play on Alladin. Remember good ol' Al? The pantomime involved active audience participation. Something which I'd never seen before. Anyway, while us chaps enjoyed the play in a stoic, chap-like manner, The Whiz Kid was on the edge of her seat, beaming and chuckling and clapping her hands with girlish glee. Ah, to be young again.
Oh yeah, there was one cooking episode at Joe Cynic's place when he cooked up some fancy stuff. Amidst all this the the fire alarm went off. It was one of those heat detector thingy's. As usual, everyone panicked, heads snapped upwards and eyes darted around trying to locate the fire. Joe Cynic rushed up with a cloth and flapped away like mad at the detector (to cool it obviously). What did I do? Well...I snickered. Quite reminiscent of my living quarters, you see. Aw, c'mon, I'm only human. What did you expect me to do? Quit my chuckling and flap along?
Night long arguments were a common feature. This was something I'd missed from the old days. Evolution, creation, religion, politics, work, cruddy bosses....everything. We diced it all up. Crawling into bed at 4 am was the inevitable end result. Ach, what the heck. I can't remember the last time I bit into a juicy argument.
Anyway, the days passed nicely. Everyone was content and the laughs flowed freely. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, dark clouds loomed over the horizon and an ominous wind blew lightly.
But, we didn't notice.
Alas.