Perfume

I don't like perfume. To this end, I don't wear perfume. I don't even wear perfumed deodorant or use scented soap.

Actually, this isn't true. There are a very few perfumes that I do like the smell of.

New West, by Aramis, which is now discontinued, and 4711 Cologne.

Something in an Alan Bennett play had reminded me about 4711 and [this is about four years ago] David was going to New York. "Is there anything you want me to bring you back?" he asked.

"Get me a bottle of 4711", I said.

Now, prior to this, I'd only ever seen 4711 in the smallest of bottles. I could recall the scent of it, but, most of all, I could remember the label on the bottle. Turquoise and gold, very intricate, but the smallest of bottles. This giving it an air of exclusivity.

Anyway, David went off to New York and returned with a suitcase filled with crap.

Amongst the crap was the biggest bottle of 4711. Not only big but one whole litre in size. Something akin to the size of bottle that you tend to see in the window of a chemist!

To this end, I did use some of the scent but the rest of it "went off".

I should have kept the bottle but, stupidly, threw it away.

Ah, well. Never mind.

All of the above was brought about by an incident on Friday night when David came up to me in the pub. Before he had a chance to speak, I told him to fuck off as the smell of his perfume was 1. making me sick, 2. the smell of his perfume was affecting the taste of my beer.

Needless to say, David wasn't happy. In the whole pantheon of little Disney characters, I'm not sure which one he was, but Happy wasn't one of them!

Shabby Chic, Shabby Service.

I'm not a fan of eating out on Saturday mornings. A roaring hangover isn't conducive to me being good company.

"Paul's recommended this place" [The Engineer in Primrose Hill], the food being "to die for". Well, I was on the verge of death before the food so this should have easy.

After suffering a bout of Byron's navigational skills, we found the place. Then the fun began.

"Do you have a reservation?" asked a very brusque foreign woman.

"Why, are you busy?" I countered. This was as 12.30 and with only six other punters in the place.

Not having any cash on me, I ordered drinks and gave the woman my card.

"Are you eating?" she asked.

"Yes".

"Do you have a reservation?" [here we go again].

So, having sorted out a reservation, which necessitates her having to go away and return with a scrappy bit of paper on which to write Byron's name, we opted to sit outside in the beer garden. "It's full" replied the clipboard Nazi. "OK, we'll sit inside".

"Fine. Come back when you're ready to eat and you can sit anywhere inside".

Nice to be given such a choice in such an empty pub.

Having "found" a seat, we were presented with the menu. It was then that I realised that this isn't a pub. It isn't even a gastro-pub, it's a restaurant masquerading as a pub.

From where we were sitting, I could see into the beer garden and thus the tattooed, pierced thing who seemed to be the matre'd jardin [tattoos seemingly a prerequisite of being a staff member].

The garden wasn't "full", it contained four people seated at to tables. The remaining eight + tables being empty. Set, but empty.

During the course of the meal, Mr tattoo / piercing turned away 22 people with the "Have you got a reservation" trick. Obviously, the David Furphy school of business management as the tables were still empty as we left, some ninety minutes later.

The service was snappy [meaning that the staff snapped [at us]] but it was fast too. Fast to the extent that I almost had to wrest the plate from the waitress, she wanting to clear it away while I was still eating.

My starter, Mackerel pate was fine, and the main course, Toad in the Hole, was just like mother used to make; burned and containing Wall's Pork and Beef sausages [89p per pack in Tesco]. At £12 odd, I thought it a bit [!] on the expensive side.

Next time we have to trek around the smarter establishments of North London, I want to go to Pizza Hut for the all you can eat buffet!

Light in the daftness

The BBC has a lot t answer for.

Last Sunday, the beeb showed Joanna Lumley going to the far end of the world [Norway] to see the Northern Lights.

Byron was very taken with the idea of the Northern Lights.

"Have you ever seen the Aurora Borealis?" he asked.

Actually, I have. I'd seen them, many years ago, in Inverness.

"Yes" I replied.

Admittedly, from Inverness, they are not as brilliant as they are from the likes of,say, Tromso, but, seen them I have.

I don't think that I can recall a TV program having such an impact on somebody as this one did.

To that end, I came home from work on Tuesday to find that he'd booked flights from London to Tomso in February, the 14th, to be exact, to go and see the Northern Lights.

Average temperature [during the day] -4'

Average temperature [at night, when out looking at the Aurora Borealis] -20'