Behind The Green Door

If theres an old piano and its playing hot you can bet it’ll be behind the green door, or so said the Welsh Elvis, our man in Marlow, sadly but a supporter of Cardiff City FC, the bright lights of the city along with money cocaine and women wooed him away from the valleys, where he could have spent a jolly old time exchanging glances with Bonnie Tyler, back in the 80’s, its different now, he’s probably a member of UKIP  or peddling anti vax stuff with Right Said Fred. But I may be wrong.

In other news a minister, sorry the chancellor of the exchequer, has agreed to pay around £3million in tax which he neglected to pay in a crafty tax avoidance scheme which he also neglected to tell anyone about ,apart from his crafty lawyer friends who were going to get him out of paying the tax, until he was caught by the fraud people, and so now, quite rightly, he will apologise and blame someone else, maybe Covid, and agree to pay the tax back all the while speaking as slow as he possibly can just so we all understand that he didn’t mean it and it was the Nurses fault. Tomorrow we shall all be booing the nurses at 6pm from our doorsteps. I sometimes wonder why I have to pay any tax, and I think that maybe if I forgot to pay it next year then maybe I could just wear a suit and shine my head and speak directly into the microphone and blame Labour, and the militant trade unions. Yes i’ll do that, but don’t tell anyone, I don’t think the HMRC read this blog, if they do then consider yourselves blocked, for no reason at all other than I’m making up my rules as they go on.

Over 200 years of experience and fun making journeyed into London this weekend (4 of us) in celebration of a good friend’s birthday, I’ll call her L for the purposes of anonymity. A few things which struck me about London are the number of people, id say there’s at least 200 more people there than in Clifton upon Teme on a Saturday night, at least.  We had reservations at the Ivy for 8pm, but got to London earlier so we could go into a cocktail bar called the Alchemist, to drink from conical flasks and beakers of smoking and bubbling fruity booze. There’s a lot going on, there’s tons of folk ordering drinks and the cocktail makers had it all under control, but the music…oh the music, so loud, but with a jazzy beat, I thoroughly recommend it, but always make sure youve got the option to leave and go somewhere else. We went to the Ivy, around 50m from the Alchemist which was about 50m from Leicester Square tube so there was very little shilly shally involved pleasingly in our journey to the big smoke, a stealth operation, Fun times but no fucking about.

Food at the Ivy was pretty damn good, but we were given bolster cushions to use as a lower back support as we ate, this is essential as a 50+ client, and I cant believe no one has ever thought of this before in my dining circles, or maybe i’m not dining in the right circles in the first place. Lumbar cushions, soft close toilet seats and the smoking ban have changed my life, and if everyone who worked there wasn’t so bloody affable then I could be overly suspicious of the place, but we raised a point that the venison was cooked slightly different from each other, they took them all away and recooked giving us a free bottle of wine, and a plate of 4 chocolates with happy birthday written in icing all because they took pity on us. Sue Pollard and Damon Hill, who were sat next to us and getting pretty fruity with each other, didn’t get that kind of treatment. Thanks The Ivy. 

At the end of the day walking through the tube station, we were greeted by the site of an enormous barely denim clad arse making its way to the next party. Happy New Year.

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