Went to a great dinner with Arlie tonight to a Spanish tapas place around the corner that everyone has been raving to me about. The word on the street about this particular restaurant was that “it makes Spanish people cry”. Meaning that it was so authentic that they were actually moved to tears to have a home away from home in London.

Galicia (the name of the restaurant) is hidden a bit up on Portobello Road past all the usual market places. It has a rather boring facade and you might just write it off apart from the Spanish flag that adorns the entrance. Walk into the locale and it is like stepping straight into Spain again.

And the menu? Great. Simple tapas with all the regular stuff at great prices for London. Cheap wine as well. Ole!

One small issue – that could very well have been a huge issue had we been pickier – Arlie was fishing around in the albondigas and found a little cucharacha. Gross.

But everything else was so damned good that we decided to forgive them and simply sent the meatballs back to the kitchen with a horrified camarero.

Can’t win ’em all I guess…

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I am quite looking forward to my weekend ahead in sunny London.

Starting out this evening by going to meet up with my old pal Blue to do some Miami reminiscing over cocktails at Milk and Honey.

Then tomorrow will be up bright and early to meet up with the Estonia posse. We have tickets for the sold out Foo Fighters show in Hyde Park. Estimated 35k people will be there. Loving it up to Dave in the sunshine.


foo fighters

And finally on Sunday a nice brunch with friends and then Arlie and I will head out to Regents Park for Taste of London where I plan on getting my eat on. Mmmn. I can hardly wait and have been perusing egullet already and looking at all the food porn for what dishes I can get my hands on.


food porn

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What more can I possibly say. These new VW ads are awesome.

Let me hear you say VAT?

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Ever wonder why every time you are eating M&Ms you are strangely drawn to the green ones? Because, duh, obviously they make you hit a homerun. Seriously, I always ask people for the green ones because M&Ms embedded this theory into my young mind through vicious marketing in the 80s. And now I have found proof that it actually does exist.

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Here is an interesting story of the day. Basically a company in the UK discovered that certain high-pitched frequencies can not be heard by people that are over 40 – but they can be detected by teens. They used this knowledge to create a product that will emit the frequency in order to deter teens from hanging out in front of their stores or other such activities.

The name of this product? Chavbuster.

So you might be asking yourself – what is a Chav?

From wikipedia: Chav (pronunciation: [tʃæv]) (also Chavette (female chav), Charv or Charva) is a slang term in wide use throughout the United Kingdom since 2004. It refers to a subcultural stereotype of a person with fashions such as flashy “bling” jewellery, Burberry clothing items and counterfeit designer clothing; an uneducated and uncultured background; a tendency to congregate around places such as fast-food outlets, bus stops, or other shopping areas; and a culture of antisocial behaviour and violence. Chavs often listen to dance/trance, RnB, rap, hip hop and drum and bass music . Response to the term has ranged from amusement to criticism that it is a new manifestation of classism.



The best part about this article is the fact that teenagers have actually used this technology and turned it into something useful for themselves. They have taken the frequency and made it into a ringtone for themselves. This means that they can turn their mobile phones on in class and have them ring – without the teacher hearing it. Awesome!

Read the article here or even better get the ringtone here and test out if you are old or not.

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In my most recent act of self-obsessed madness I have done something that many would find funny, yet those who know me might not be shocked.

I joined the gym. Yes, that is correct. I joined the Kensington Leisure Centre. The public gym down the street from my house. As Arlie puts it – the ghetto gym.



And yes, it is a bit ghetto. But for only £40 a month it seems worth it over the higher priced £90 a month Holmes Place next to us. Because let’s all be serious. At least (at this point) I know that I am probably going to sign up, go for a week and then never return again while it eats away at my direct deposit. And somehow I end up paying £1000 and am neither more physically fit or thinner by the time I decide to cancel.

OK. In all actuality, that was just the first part of the story.

The second part of it has to do with a bar. Or a members only club – of which there are quite a few in London. Most of them are stodgy with strict member joining policies that consist of applying, having recommendations made, essays written, applications sent to a board to review. Basically like applying for university. The bar that I am referring to is called Milk and Honey. A nice little bar in Soho of London that has famed cocktails and a relaxed environment. And yes, a members only policy. Without all the crap. Just a waiting list. When memberships come up, the go to the next in line. Simple.


milk n honey

What is the point of even bothering to join a members only bar in one of the world’s biggest cities? Well, things do tend to close early here in London. Then you are somehow left in the streets of dirty Soho trying to decide what to do at 1am and inevitably end up at the “Spanish bar” or wandering the streets with people vomiting on your feet. I’m not a big fan to say the least.

And as you have seen from the previous paragraphs, I lack persistance to deal with such crapola…

Now you may be asking yourself what one has to do with the other.

Well…a few months ago I put myself on the waiting list for Milk and Honey.

And now my membership has come up. And I have decided to join.

But at the same time I realised that I joined the gym and am wasting £40 a month not going.

So it seems that the best way to justify such a ridiculous waste of money as joining a bar is by quitting my gym membership and swapping it for the Milk and Honey membership.

It seems wrong in so many ways.

Quitting gym > joining bar.

But somehow I have a feeling that I will get far more use out of the bar membership than I ever did for the gym membership.

And that, my friends, is the way the cookie crumbles in my sad, sad world.

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I wish that Paris Hilton would just stick to the things that she is good at… boning Greek billionaires and getting drunk because she certainly can’t sing, dance or act.

Please make this video / album go away. It has traumatised me this morning. So much so that I have to share it with you just so you can witness how truly horrible it really is.

A) The lyrics are awful
B) She clearly can’t dance. Note how the dancing gets clipped after about 2 seconds of her awkward movements
C) Didn’t I see this video somewhere else before? Um, cross between Cherish (Madonna) and Wicked Game (Chris Isaak)
D) Whoever called this shit reggae needs to go smoke a big fat spliff and listen to some Lee Scratch Perry
E) Her voice is whiny and crap
F) Do I need to continue?
G) The title is Stars are Blind. And clearly tonedeaf and dumb as well…

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I love this guy – O’luminum. Why do people have so much extra time on their hands?

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