rozzee

I’ve always spurned gambling, largely because it requires dealing with numerals, a pigeon would fair better as a sous chef that I with a phone number, so why on earth would I know how to play poker? IC, Mary, Paul and I were equally hungover when Paul produced a deck of cards, it was the last thing I wanted, I was too hot and feeling as I’ve my internal organs had been exchanged for KFC chicken giblets. Sunday afternoon, on a roof garden in Hackney, I learnt and played my very first game. After a while I got the hang of it, an hour later I was addicted. Well there’s the beginning of the end. I’m already fighting the temptation to play a hand or few online… maybe I can turn pro and earn my living in seedy late-night gaming rooms and dubious east end ‘casinos,’ that’d be fucking ace.

The weekend started with Dan, Nicky, IC and I outside a busy pub off St. Martins Lane warming up for dinner at J.Sheekey, the most sublime (and famous) fish restaurant in London Town which, if one is careful, is cheaper than night in Pizza Express, I shit you not. Whole Cornish cock crab £15 and a bottle of (extremely drinkable) house red £18, for example.

After gorging ourselves silly on the aforementioned crab, oysters, smoked eel, fisherman pie, haddock rarebit and a few bottles of the good stuff (bill was less than £40 per head, would’ve been a lot less but we went a bit mad with the eel, and the wine) IC and I wound our way back East to continue with a night of youtube and perhaps some Italian wine.

By Saturday lunchtime it was hot and sunny, after we’d resurrected we met up with Ellen by Cambridge Circus for some fare at Bistroteque. I have to say, despite the ‘knowingly trendy’ air to the place, I am very fond of it. This may have a lot to do with IC and Ellen knowing a lot of the staff and our being treated like The Rolling Stones, it also helps the food is superb. I was clearly looking the worse for wear and I was given a complimentary Bloody Mary and after the eggs benedict I was as right as rain.

After some shopping we were home by 4-ish, short catch up with papers and IC and I went off to the local on Mare Street for half price cocktails. We were joined by Mary, Paul and Marky and spent a funny evening in the evening sunshine giggling at the mundane and pithy before settling inside. Toward the end of the night a load of cage fighter types began to arrive (as it happen they were actual cage fighters) with their glamour girl arm candy. We left to continue celebrations back at IC and Mary’s gaff and the sun had begun to make an appearance before we finally headed off to bed.

The Catalunya Moto GP on Sunday was one of the best I’ve ever seen, Valentino Rossi led for most of the race after overtaking team-mate Georgio Lorenzo early on, Lorenzo took it back for the last quarter (or did, as the pundits suspected, Rossi give Lorenzo the place to ‘study him’ as the former is a genius and the latter a rising star.) Either way, the last lap was so exciting even IC was on her feet. Rossi took his place back but then Lorenzo got ahead, they swapped, swapped back, it was looking bad for Rossi as he’d only one corner left when, and even after watching this a few times I’ve no idea how he did this, stuffed it past in a place where you just can’t/don’t overtake. I was on a high for that for most of the afternoon, fucking marvellous.

After the poker we went back to the flat and did the Sunday over with two movies, Old School-funny in places, and The Hunting Party- tentatively recommended. No drinks though, we needed a rest. Despite this, after cycling in this morning, I feel as bad as I would’ve if I’d necked a bottle of Japanese whisky.

Bollocks.

Watch the first half. Rossi has just taken his lead back…