Lou came to town, in quest of fabric. She tried the cheap place in Kingston but they had misled her about the fabric she needed, so she ended up needing me to take her to Goldhawk Road. Problem is, the guys in Goldhawk have experienced people with telly budgets coming for their fabric. Lou is making for theatre right now. She can’t be paying £12.99 a metre. I sat in the car while she haggled. Then we drove to Dishoom.
I’ve tried to go to Dishoom many times in my life, and always failed. I’ve stood in that Soho queue with vague responses. I’ve drunk their free sherry. And I’ve given up, knowing that there are other places selling good food in easy walking distance. But… The difficulty makes it seem more appealing. There’s always a huge queue.
Lou booked for 4pm and when we arrived there was already a huge queue and the woman at the door tried to put us in it. We were given a vibrating thing with 536 on it and we could see people sitting and waiting with 507. We made as much of a fuss as we were able for people who booked ahead. Our rationale was clear: “if they offer bookings at 4pm, they should honour them”. Every other time I’ve tried it has been on spec.
With some persuasion we got a table amidst all the Christmas parties. Lou popped my Dishoom cherry. Tasty.
Then to a very dear friend’s fortieth in the arse end of nowhere. I had Bergman so I stayed fresh and made sure I left before the football finished so nobody drunk and angry tried to swipe into me. I rushed home to beat them, and on the way I elicited my first bang to rights double flash where they call a 40 road a 20 and I was going about 30mph. That’ll be my first speed awareness course unless there’s something faulty with the camera. Oh such fun. I’ll have to pretend I think it’s about safety and not revenue generation, when I know full well I was driving to the road and totally aware of surroundings. They’ll show me photos of dead people.
For now though I’m home and sleepy. Bed soon. Electric blanket is on. Life is making vague sense at the moment.