Let’s see. What have I been up to lately… Last week, went to Paris for a fun time Marketing meeting. Was very ill with a cold so basically sat inside my house the entire weekend coughing and sleeping. Not too exciting.

Had a dinner party last Wednesday. With Saby & Noah, Arlie, Milty, and Davin. Made really nice stuffed chicken breasts with goat cheese. It’s a good thing that people don’t eat stuffed human breasts cause that would kind of suck, especially if you got a silicone one.

Friday night after work, Arlie and I met up with Ben and Sascha on the Queen Mary at the Embankment. The weather was lovely so we sat outside drinking Budweiser (yes, the King of Beer is a popular beverage here). Ben retired home, but we stayed on until,as Doug Robb would say, the wee hours of the morning. Had a scrum with some Aussie and Kiwi guys and headed down the plank. Instead of doing the smart thing, which would be to go home and pass out, we decided that eating breakfast at an all night restaurant in Chelsea would be the thing to do. This is after I chowed down on the street vendor’s version of a hotdog. Hot dog!

Needless to say, the Chelsea eatery was crowded and the bouncers wouldn’t let us in. Yes, I said bouncers. Got back into Aussie dude’s (Steve) car, busted out the A to Z and pointed out that on page 49 is where mi casa is. There was some noise in the back seat, which we recognized to be Arlie, saying, “Hey, let’s go to Wales.” I ignored this noise. Steve did not…

2 1/2 hours later we stopped for gas. I decided that I was in a bad mood after I attempted a game of Truth or Dare, disclosed some information that no stranger needs to know in my truth, and then had everyone stop playing. Damn people suck! Sascha was being accosted by drunk boy #2 and Arlie decided that she needed to sit shotgun. At this point - the sun is on it’s sunny way up and I had come to the conclusion that Roley was dead from lack of attention and/or food. Steve couldn’t take the whining anymore and turned the car around, heading back to London where he dropped us on my doorstep.

Woke up at 10:30 (miracle), sweating profusely. Why didn’t anyone tell me that there would be a heatwave this weekend in London? Wratched-it-arounded (Roger Brown’d) and called Milty. Woke him up and demanded brunch at Cafe Flo. Several hours and clothes changes later, we sat down for some nice mimosas and eggs.

Hopped in a cab because Milt deemed it too damned hot to tube it (hmm, why do we call him Chilly Milt?). Went over to Saby and Noah’s new flat in (Noah) Parson’s Green. Really cute flat right across from mini park where many Brits lay out in their bra’s and boxer shorts. Grabbed a blanket and some wine and chilled for a bit. Davi-9 showed up and we walked over to the ‘Slony Pony’ which is really the White Horse pub. There was a little dixieland band playing outside with alcoholic men and their red noses. I had a fascination with Pimms on this sunny afternoon, so we purchased a pitcher of the Brit sangria. Also got some nice sausage sandwiches.

A few hours and a pitcher of Pimms later, we all made up our minds to head to Hyde Park where Sting was having a show. Once again, wratched it around and cabbed it over. Nice warm evening, some more wine, and a few Cuban cigars. Sitting in the park, received a phone call from Ornella, who is back in town, telling me that she is picking me up at my house at 11:30. Ouch my head.

Got home at 11:15, changed my clothes and then the buzzer rang. Headed out to some club called Browns. Very Euro. People dressed in their best 80’s-is-making-a-comeback gear. Drank several cran+vodkas (in the States that would be a Cape Cod) and jumped into a mini-cab to the next venue. Can’t even remember the name of the next place. Somewhere on Old Park Lane. Got chased around by boys that I could swear were gay, yet still attempted to kiss me. Drank more Cape Cods. Started to hiccup and then I knew that the night was nearly over. Went grocery shopping at 5 am, came home and passed out.

Woke up at 4 - once again, sweating profusely. Sat in the shower for 2 hours pretending that it was a swimming pool or I was in a tropical rainforest. Didn’t leave my house and ordered some overpriced, gross sushi.

Yep - that pretty much brings you all up to speed on the boring life of the Cape Cod drinking foolio living in London. Ouch my head.