Silent Times

Juicelog Thurs 310108: January has been tranquil for me as my outer human crust loathes venturing out into the current cold climate we’re experiencing in Londres. During my hibernation cycle I have slowly been catching up on some much needed rest and taken some time to consider how I might make this year a bit more eventful and fulfilling. One of the thoughts that I have been considering is the possibility of taking a one year sabbatical from my job to go and work abroad. The idea of 12 months in Asia whilst working in the kitchen of a fine classy eatery really appeals to me. Temping, bar work or giving 'L' lessons (i.e. teaching English) would not be my first choice as I am really eager and determined to learn the basics of cooking.

Testing myself in another area of my life, I am trying to see how long I can actually persist with my current bout of disco dormancy. Not possessing any recent thrilling tales to excite you with, here is an extract from my last trip to Trade which I have not had a chance to post. Last time I was at Turnmills I was queuing up (by myself) to use one of the cubicles inside the Ladies Restroom. For those unfamiliar with the layout of the female toilets, here is a basic outline:

With the queue progressing along in a turtle like fashion, I got talking to a charming young man standing behind me in the line. His name was Tom and he was a 24yo psychology student from Tel Aviv. Complimenting me on my physique and youthful facial features, I politely out of common courtesy praised him on his perfect Adonis-like body. Changing the conversation to a more neutral topic, I started quizzing him about the finer points of his psychology course. As we were nearing cubicle number eight, which happens to be one of my favourite cubicles (given it’s more spacious than the others and has better feng shui), Tom invited me into the cubicle with him. Not sure about how honourable his intentions were, I hesitated and paused at the doorway. Assuring me that he only wanted to continue our discussion I reluctantly hopped inside with him.

As soon as we were inside the hot and humid compartment, he started to unzip his trousers and reached inside his undies to get his “booty baton” out. I panicked slightly as I didn’t want to engage in unacquainted jousting given that I had already committed myself to Pudz’s power pistol fencing for professionals. Rummaging through my mind at the speed of light whilst struggling with the effects of the dummy dust (i.e. pony tranquilizer), I tried to think about how I could kindly excuse myself.

Mercifully, I didn’t have to say anything as Tom was having a number one inside the confines of number eight. When he finished tinkling, he tucked himself back in and turned around. Face-to-face, he looked at me like he was waiting for something to happen. What followed was a slightly awkward moment of silence. Sensing that we weren’t going to be discussing Jung anymore, I opened the door leading him out and informed him I would locate him on the dancefloor.

Alex’s Bidet Dinner

Juicelog Sat 260108: Snaking along the dark and dimly lit back streets of Piccadilly, we rejoiced in Alex’s senescence at The Club Bar and Dining. We were strategically sat with Alex taking up the godmother position around two semi-circular tables. Thank the almighty Allah I had an apple & lychee mojito to keep me company whilst we were waiting for our food to be served. My main course of confit of duck (served with roast veg) was enjoyable. The poached pear in red wine had a citrus falvour to it with the texture being slightly on the firm side. It was accompanied by ice cream and an exceptionally tasty shortbread biscuit.

Popped into YAG Late for a nightcap with Fras-meo and Johnny-iet after the meal. As we were about to leave the bar, Johnny V got accosted and molested by this drunk dunderhead who was being extremely full on with him. Johnny didn’t take too kindly to his physical manner, and following a few heated words a mini punch up ensued. As the whole incident happened so quickly we departed feeling fairly stunned and shocked.

Chicofahy tick, what next?

Juicelog Thurs 240108: It’s been about 35 days since my Chicofahy scalping and my hair is quickly growing back to its usual length. In a world where length rules supreme and forms the basis of the currency amongst the gaylords, I have been considering adding a couple of inches (to my hair) by non Harley Street means. Adopting the little red book as my style icon to give myself a Chinese communist look is kinda appealing. Good or bad idea?

JB’s Bidet

Juicelog Thurs 170108: Occupying two tables and a tenth of the bar area, we hung out at The Box tonight to count the number of pocket sized plastic packets JB received in honour of his certified just for men moment. Tonight was the first time that some of the phu-fighters boys got to meet the wind beneath my hot’n’spicy wings, we followed the custom of splashing red wine onto the right knee of our recently appointed elder. The spring chicken I bestowed to chief JB was spared from the ritual sacrifice, and so I took him home instead for a photofit session.

Sore Of His Ring

Juicelog Sun 130108: My recent attempts to silence the gossip mongers and the tittle-tattle circulars has proved to be futile and fruityless. Amongst the many slurs that have been directed at me, include the story of Pudz being described as the lord of my ring. With the need to refute these yellow whispers, I took some corrective action by firmly locking a ring onto one of Pudz’s finger. When he complained that he was unable to remove the ring from the third finger on his left hand, I thought he was mucking about. Pudz then proceeded to show me that his finger had swollen and that the ring was trapped.

We had a go with using hand lotion, babyoil, liquid soap, a plaster and iced cold water to see if we could get the ring off and it still wouldn’t budge. It was like someone somewhere was trying to tell us that the ring should not be removed at all. After a little twisting and turning with the pliers we finally managed to pry it off and now I’ve got a new piece of jewellery.

Some January Bidets

Juicelog Sat 120108: Last night, my knight in pudding plating came to my rescue with some of lum lum’s 48:20 tonic. As a small gift for his heroic valour, I rewarded him with the pleasure and privilege of hanging out with me today. After the getting-to-know-Richard-better lunch at Wagamama, we indulged in some lottery scratch cards fun which took us back to Acton’s Oriental Store (which is run by non-Orientals and contained a handful of Oriental products). Rebounding back into the centre, we nipped into Ruby Blue’s for Christie’s bidet drinks. The bar was understaffed, the place was crammed full of alcoholics and it took forever to get served.

Completed the evening with Pudz’s bidet dinner, we went to Bar Shu (a Sichuanese restaurant in the West End). Not being extremely familiar with this style of Chinese cooking we ordered from the menu, and ended up trying out the cold pork slices, cold chicken slithers, steamed pork belly and chicken mince served in lettuce. If you like it Spicy, then this is a place for you to check out.

A Big Slip Up

Juicelog Fri 110108: This morning I made an error of judgement, and slipped up appallingly. The fall was quite horrific and I’ve really injured myself bigtime. Even though I was able to prevent myself from falling, I somehow lost my footing and spiralled downwards rapidly. Before I fell I could visualise the moment I was about to plummet and desperately looked for something to grab onto.

Being the brainless idiot that I am, I reacted inappropriately and have now ended up damaging the most delicate part of my body (which is juicing out a massive amount of unbearable hurt and ache). Unfortunately this part of my body is so hyper-sensitive it cannot be inspected or alleviated by my doctor. I am trying to have to work out how I am going to be able to self remedy this intense anguish and pain. If anyone knows where I can get hold of Lum Lum’s 48:20 tonic, I would be eternally grateful.

The Country Wife

Juicelog Wed 020108: Pudz and I arrived slightly late and tipsy (from cocktails at Digby Trout) for The Country Wife (at The Haymarket Theatre) and ended up watching the first half of this restoration comedy from the gallery upstairs.

The Country Wife is a romp comedy set in London in which Horner (Toby Stephens) feigns impotence in order to lure and seduce the local females and wives into his trickster hands. The plot then thickens with Pinchwife (David Haig) trying to protect his newly acquired young and naïve bride, Margery (Fiona Glascott) from the interests of the other unsavoury men. Inevitably Margery winds up crossing paths with Horner leading to harmful consequences.

Utilising a set of a boyish blue (Horner's batchelor pad) and girlish pink (Margery's childlike bedroom) to represent the two sexes, the audience gets taken back and forth between the two storylines in a single rotation of these colourful sets. This version does mix it up with a modern day pool table and rakes wearing jeans underneath their traditional costumes.

This classic farce of naughty innuendos is cleverly written with some witty lines. The differences between men and women is well highlighted. For the more PC conscious amongst us, the role of women are shown to be in belittling light even though the men are also typecast as bumbling sexual predators. It does however succeed in tickling the audience with cheeky puns and double entendres, creating a piece that translates extremely well even by Juicy’s comical standards.