Dont buy the Sun.

Dont buy the Sun.
Hillsborough Justice campaign - Remember the 96.

Sunday, 21 October 2007

London 13th -14th October

A very busy weekend in London, accompanied by much drinking, after a very busy week.

First photo shows Nel and Joanie meeting up again in Rose Street, this time The City Of Westminster, London:

Next photo is me, Gengis and Charlayan in Christine's flat. Gengis is Charlayan's dad. The recumbent caterpillar on his upper lip is not a fashion choice. Gengis is an actor in Turkey and his current role requires the facial fuzz. That's Genghis' excuse. I have no excuse for my appearance other than severe tiredness. Charlayan should not really have been in the picture, because she just makes Genghis, but particularly me, look bad. Sometime later that night more drinkies were imbibed with Dave, my old mate from all those years ago in Liverpool, Di and Alistair (more good old friends), Christine, and Nel's sister Jane.

Next day we went to Jane's house in North London and hung out with her daughter's Sadie, Lydia and Niome. And Lydia's daughter, the very young Ruby. It was great to hang out with these guys, they're all just so grounded, each in their own way. The only worry was that Jane's long time partner - Malcolm - has had a stroke and Jane was visiting him in hospital. Personally I think Malcolm's great, although I only met him a couple of times, but he's also a typical contractor - bad diet, high stress levels, no exercise. The passage of time, and the real process of ageing, really begins to hit home when I realized that someone YOUNGER than me (43) had had a stroke.

Jane's crowd were all off for a meal to celebrate Niome's birthday, and were getting glammed up as we left, so no photos, I'm afraid. However, I can report that they're all as glamourous as ever. I don't think I'll ever forget meeting this crew at Halifax Airport, about four years after we had arrived in Canada. Halifax airport does attract a relatively limited, but fairly easily identifiable clientelle, from check shirted apple farmers returning to the Annapolis Valley to ruddy Newfoundlanders to the sensibly clad fleece brigade that, I think, we'd (happily) joined by this time. Jane's party exited the plane in blur of leopardskin, high heels, glitter, sunglasses and leather. I still remember one apple farmer spilling his Tim Hortons over his best checked shirt as the party's heels click-clacked past him.

All in all it was an good weekend. Ruby has not developed into another formidable Large woman, but give her time, a certain glint in her eye gave the game away. Great Uncle Martin will be loosing arguments with this one for years to come.

No comments: