Patisserie Valerie is located in the centre of Kingston. Discovered on one of my outings into town, I fell in love with the adorable cafe with its Parisian feel. If you’re into the whole cafe culture – which is an expression that I’m not sure whether I made up or heard somewhere before – then Patisserie is definitely your spot.

The lovely chairs down the passage are perfect for intimate rendezvous and spying on oblivious passersby…
It also has an amazing food selection. My biggest indulgence is coffee and a croissant, but the menu has delicious salads, huge variety of sandwiches, and breakfast all day! With all this in mind, it’s not too expensive or over the top considering the frilly atmosphere. The only thing that disappointed me was to discover its a chain, with other locations in London. It would’ve been a little more authentic knowing its a local spot in the area. Nevertheless I still suggest checking it out if you haven’t yet. It’s the perfect casual date place.

It was a weird place for Dodgy to play in; the Four Crosses Hotel in the middle of the Shropshire countryside, and it looked more like a mock-Georgian wedding venue than a kicking gig venue. However, I was (unusually) wrong, and it turned out to be fantastic. The room was absolutely packed and the crowd were jumping, the gig was truly fantastic, the whole thing sounded amazing and it was nice to catch up with the boys, as always. I was driving home again (uurgh) so I stayed sober (double uurgh) and stayed just long enough to say ‘hello’, ‘great gig’ and ‘see ya soon’.

During the following week I visited my mate Mark the Yid on Monday, had tea at me Mum’s on Tuesday, went to see Dad and took Bryony out to McDonalds (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it) on Wednesday, had pizza and stayed over at Ann & Tilly’s place on Thursday, and had a wonderful dinner at Marie & Paul’s on friday, which was produced from the River Cottage Garden vegetable cook book I bought for Marie a couple of weeks back. Busy bee, huh? I love it like that, nothing better than catching up with friends and family, and putting the World to rights.

Friday was also birthday day for two of my younger pals. Bryony turned 15 (going on 30), and Tess had her first birthday. I’ve decided that since so many people have birthdays at the end of September and the beginning of October, sex during the Christmas and New Year holidays should be banned. Do your friends and relatives a favour people. If you’re even vaguely fertile, keep your genitals to yourself from mid-December to mid-January this year. Thank you. As you were.

Saturday came, and with it a BRILLIANT weekend ahead in the best city in the entire World – Liverpool. Oh, and I need to point out that you can try to tell me London’s better or Manchester’s better, or that there was this place in South east Asia you saw when you were backpacking in 1994, but you’d be wrong. It’s Liverpool, end of.

Having taken Mum to get her ‘flu jab and helped to change Granny’s bedding and one or two other errands, I finally got to the railway station and on the chuffer to Liddypoolsville. Ahhhhhh, the feeling you get as the train crosses the Runcorn Bridge, and you know you’re nearly there. It’s just the best. I always start to get butterflies as I get to Lime Street (it might well be my liver groaning as it realises what we’re about to do). Once I’m on the station concourse and can feel like I’m really in the city, I take a deep breath in through the nose. A lung full of Liverpool – nothing finer for the constitution.

I met Lis at the uber-swanky Hard Days Night Hotel, where she had very cleverly booked us into the best room the place (in my opinion). Room 402 has a balcony which gives you a view all the way down Mathew Street, from North John Street, past Pink, past the Cavern, past Eric’s, down to the Grapes and so on. At one end of the balcony you can see the Three Graces over the rooftops, and at the other end you can see the iron arch and slated spires of Lime Street station.

In fact the only thing that is wrong with Room 402 is the portrait of Ringo, who’s pervy eyes follow you around the room (shudder).

Having absorbed a bit of luxury in the hotel, Lis and I wandered along Mathew Street, into town and found a table in a pub that sold bottles of plonk for £6. Oh yes please. We polished that off at a fairly alarming rate, and simultaneously caught up on each other’s news and gossip, since we’d not spent time together since July. Then we wandered on to meet some friends at Villa Romana. I hadn’t been there before and have to say, it was gorgeous. Beautiful restaurant, great staff, and the food was out of this world. Four starters, four mains and two bottles of vino came to £80. Can’t say fairer than that, eh? Thoroughly recommended for a belly full of Italian in Liverpool.

We jumped into a cab and got to the venue just in time to get drinks, assume a decent position (as opposed to an indecent one) and wait for the first band of the evening. Damien Dempsey is an absolute powerhouse of a man. He’s more Irish than… well, anything really. There is a school of thought that enthuses that Dempsey is currently the very best singer/songwriter this side of Jupiter. I’m not of that school, but I do think he’s really bloody fantastic. Pretty easy on the eye too (wink nudge).

Then Amsterdam. This is a band I got into accidentally. I had been to a couple of Ian McNabb gigs, at the insistence of my then boyfriend. He told me that he knew I would love McNabb’s music, because “it’s music for lovers, and music lovers”. He was right, and long after he and I split up, I was still going to McNabb gigs. I met a few new friends at those gigs (Lis being one of them), and some of those people suggested that I would also like Amsterdam – a celtic, folk, rock, punk, rollercoaster that was a bit of the Clash, a bit of Dexy’s and a whole lot of Ian Prowse, their brilliant frontman.

So, then Amsterdam came on stage and my stomach turned with excitement. Some of the best BEST gigs I’ve ever seen in my whole life have been Amsterdam gigs. I’ve seen hundreds and hundreds of all kinds of gigs, and I’m not easy to please musically, so that’s quite an accolade. Saturday night’s show did not disappoint, it was blinding. You just cannot fail to be turned on by an eight piece band like Amsterdam, but if you do fail, call an undertaker. All my favourites were on the set list, as well as new material I’ve never heard before and am looking forward to hearing again. I sang along, clapped, stomped, laughed, cried and squealed with delight. Luckily for me, Lis filmed almost all of it on her fantastic new little Cisco FlipVideo gizmo. To top it all off, we met up with a huge bunch of friends, old and new, some we expected, and others we just didn’t know would turn up and it was a wonderful surprise to see them.

After the gig, Lis and I walked a little way through the city with Dave and Chris, and then we girls peeled off to walk towards Mathew Street. Saturday nights on Mathew Street are always pretty raucous affairs (think Hogarth’s “Gin Lane“), and so we decided to walk along through the mayhem, to our hotel. We saw one immaculately turned out girl in a fabulous red dress, with full WAG tan and make up, long ringlets and a handbag that probably cost more than my car. As we got level with her, she staggered, leaned against a littler bin, sicked up into her own mouth, held it in with her hand, and swallowed it back down. That, ladies and gents, is true class. Once back inside the Hard days Night, we peeled off to the left into Bar Four. A bloke at the bar ordered two cognacs, which were served heated over a flame, and cost him about £30. Bloody hell. We ordered a pair of rum and Cokes and sat down quickly for more gossip and some priceless people watching. Feeling suitably rummed up and snoozy, we eventually wobbled off to our lovely room, and got all jimjammed up. Having had a final pillow-based gossip, it was lights out and the end of what had been a wonderful night out with a much-loved friend.

We woke late and after we had taken our turns in the shower and got dressed, we wandered through Liverpool a bit more. We breakfasted at Patisserie Valerie – one of a small chain of Belgian patisseries that seem to be popping up here and there. After a mini shopping spree en route to Lime Street (all Lis – I was entirely innocent of this) we acquired tea and coffee and hopped onto our train. A slightly sad journey back after such a smashing time, but we chattered away nevertheless and before we knew it, it was time for me to leave Lis at Crewe, and she then carried on to Birmingham, and onward to deepest, darkest Berkshire. A happy time had by both.

Once home I was able to catch up with Facebook, sort my bag out, spend some time with the cat (who didn’t seem to have noticed I was away) and speak to my pal Ann, who had gossip to share. After a long phonecall, catching up with each other’s news, we decided it would be easier for me to pop over there, so we could natter and watch the X Factor results. With bellies full of KFC, we settled in to shout at the telly, especially that Kitty one who needs a metaphorical thump in the gob, as far as I’m concerned. There’s no-one really grabbing me from this year’s finalists so far. We’ll see…

Much silliness and hilarity at Ann & Tilly’s place as usual, and then Spooks. I haven’t been able to watch Spooks since an episode years ago where the ‘baddy’ put one of the Spooks faces into a chip shop deep fat fryer. She came out screaming, fried and disfigured and when eventually she passed out from the agony, the ‘baddy’ shot her in the head. This gave me terrible dreams for ages, and so I have never watched it since. However, this episode was fantastic! Shame it’s the last series. Fucking typical.

This morning, Ann introduced me to something else I’ve never had. Tinned spaghetti and fried egg on toast. When I admitted I’ve never tried this combination, she called me a “Southern Poof”. I can now say with some certainty that having had tinned spaghetti and fried egg on toast, and having declared it delicious, I am now both thoroughly Northern and utterly heterosexual. Eeeeh…

This afternoon I went to pick up the lovely Lucy, and we went into Hanley to sample the food at a brilliant little caff she has discovered and insisted I sample too. She was SO right. Lángos (pronounced lahn-gosh) is a tiny little Hungarian caff, tucked away at the back of the market under the Potteries Shopping Centre. It is named after the traditional Hungarian flatbread that makes up much of the menu there. It’s the sort of thing you can have with cheese, sausage and garlic as a savoury meal, or with chocolate spread and ice cream as a dessert. Delicious doesn’t even come close. Lucy and I had goulash which was pretty much the most amazing tasting dish I have tasted in years. We drank hot apple and maple tea, and then had lángos for dessert. Lucy ordered hers with chocolate spread and banana, and I ate mine with honey and vanilla ice cream. Two meals, two desserts, two hot drinks, less than £10. Perfection. If ever you’re in the Stoke area, try Lángos. It looks like a tiny little teapot and toast style caff, but serves top notch restaurant food at soup kitchen prices.

So now I’m home and I don’t think I’ll be moving from this seat at any point soon. The weather’s gone a bit biblical, there are Jack Russel dogs flying past at some altitude, and all the trees have gone a bit horizontal. The cat’s wandering round with eyes like saucers, like something off a Halloween poster.

I’ve done quite enough gallivanting just lately, across four counties and covering many, many topics of conversation, many types of food and drink, a handful of music genre and with some of the loveliest people I know. It occurs to me tonight, as I relax on my own with my thoughts, that just like everyone else I have my problems, issues and things that go AARRGH in the night, but I have to say that I am a very lucky girl indeed. Thank you so very much to everyone who makes my life so lovely, and bollocks to all the rest…

Weather: buy a chin strap for your wig, probably best if you don’t go out with a big umbrella. Just saying.

image courtesy of tartelette

So in our ‘research’ of traditional Italian weddings, it was revealed at our delectable food tasting when we visited Italy back in June that one of the traditional styles of wedding cake is mille feuille. We were lucky enough to sample the cake as the chef had some going spare from another wedding he had been catering for that day and I have to say it was absolutely delicious. Light, sweet and the perfect way to finish off the very rich savory and meat filled courses. To indulge in your sweet tooth without the need for a trip to Italy (although I would highly recommend this) why not visit the Patisserie Valerie.

He said that Unilever needs to recruit people who think differently, people who can work with you, not for you, and leaders at all levels of the organisation whose task was to ‘clarify what was wanted, be a voice from the front, encourage risk taking and awaken peoples passion.’  An example of what he meant by passion followed on film –  a 5 minute advert for Findus foods which was to indicate how his employees were having their passion awakened by the generation of new products and ideas: frozen vegetables.

He finished his sequence with questions from the conference panel: ‘are schools doing enough to generate creative ideas for business’ and ‘how could you make sprouts more appealing to children?’  His final comment, in some joking aside about the issue of school dinners… ‘our frozen food is fresher than fresh food… Frozen is the New Fresh’: now makes a lot more sense 5 years later with the recent horse meat scandal.

Now we know that ‘creativity’ is often an excuse for all sorts of linguistic shenanigens and that teachers at conferences on creativity and education often have to swallow a lot of frogs when it comes to assessing what is ‘good practice’.  But in the era when  Frozen can be the New Fresh and Horse can be the New Beef then I can clearly become the Count of Monte Cristo.

The porkie pies that Findus have been unashamedly peddling for years are at least out in the open although you might reasonably wonder whether there is something else other than pork in those pies.  Over-enthusiastic marketing is built upon a lot more than reconstituted delusional seaweed.

Anderson Fernandes has been jailed (Picture: MEN)

Anderson Fernandes wandered into the shop after finding the door open.

He took a cone and two scoops from the counter but didn’t like the coffee flavour so he gave it to a passing woman.

Fernandes left DNA behind and yesterday admitted burglary at Patisserie Valerie on Deansgate, Manchester, and a charge of handling a stolen vacuum cleaner.

Michael McQuillan, defending, said: ‘He is remorseful and fully accepts how serious the matter was.

‘It’s not the facts of the offence he committed, it’s the fact he’s committed it in circumstances where there’s public disorder.’

The 21-year-old, from Newton Heath, had already appeared in court charged with possessing drugs and an offensive weapon on the same day, Manchester crown court heard.

Fernandes was among a group of young men who appeared yesterday at Manchester Crown Court.

Shortly after our meeting,I was booked. I was  happy,so happy i popped a bottle of bubbly. You see this was the first booking that I had from an outsider, someone who didnt already know me. But someone who saw in me potential. And for this I am more grateful than you know.

When I met with Lee and Michelle today it was like meeting old friends. Not just clients. As we parted Michelle gave me a thank you card.. But really Michelle, I would like to Thank you. x

p.s don’t forget to grab an adorable pot of jam, delish!

The flight boarding went smoothly. I got my aisle seat. A pleasant girl got the window seat and the seat between us was empty. Sweetness. But we had two Tweens sitting behind us. They drank too much diet coke and kept talking about needing to put their makeup on. Lol.

There was a slight delay with takeoff. I hate when they announce we are #13 to take off. It’s like an endless line at the deli that you can’t opt out of.

Watched a really cute movie. The Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy called, Just Go With It. It was an entertaining, giggle-snorting in my seat movie. I like those classic romantic comedies. Even if they are a little formulaic.

Then I watched episodes of my fav shows: Wizards of Waverly Place, Good Luck Charlie, Shake it Up.

As usual couldn’t sleep on plane. Meditated for an hour. Then we were landing at 6:48 a.m. London time. A baby gets to wailing as we wait to disembark so I start rocking out to Selena Gomez and The Scene.

I will continue to rock out to her for the next 2 hours because Heathrow has several international flights arriving simultaneously. The line for immigration was literally over a mile long. At one point, i descend into hysterical laughter. It took 10 minutes just to get to the end of the line and commence waiting.

I pull out Stephen King’s book on writing, determined to make the most of my time. Except I am cracked out from zero sleep. So I read the same page over and over again. I still made it to page 45 before I got in front of immigration.

And here’s where things get stressy. The officer questions my being unemployed. Um yeah worldwide recession. Decimation of U.S financial system. Total restructuring of financial services. Then he asks why I didn’t take this trip sooner. Um, because I was looking for a job and had to coordinate my plans with a friend.

He tells me normally he wouldn’t allow me to enter the UK because I am unemployed and the concern is I would illegally try to get a job here. I showed him my onward flights to Asia as evidence that I plan to leave the UK.

This is pretty stressful because I have no idea how I can prove I am just going on a long trip to Asia and making a pitstop here. It was weird to have to explain my decisions to a complete stranger.

It also involved explaining OL being in grad school, my back injury and artificial disc. I was talking to the guy for. Good half hour. Ugh. And I was so tired I couldn’t think straight.

Finally got a cab and the cabbie has no idea where my hotel is. Lol.
But he figures it out and I arrive at 9:15. Hungry tired and unsettled by airport. So I can’t check in this early at the Kingsland Hotel. So there I am in the lobby sunscreening up to go into town.

Luckily OL and I plotted out the route to the British Museum. That goes smooth. But I’m starving. I see a McDonalds but I feel so close to tears from airport drama, I splurge and Go to a cafe. Breakfast is two of the most decadent lattes I’ve ever tasted, poached eggs, bacon and toast at Pattiserie Valerie.

Then I found the British Museum after a few wrong turns. Crowded. Times Square rush hour crowded. Ick. Pulled out Selena again. So tired couldn’t absorb anything. I saw a lot of old shit. Some creepy shit too. Took a few pics and bought a souvenir book.

Saw some cool Buddha statues too. And pieces of panthenon.

Then got lost looking for subway so bought water and got directions. Back to hotel. Checked in. Passed out for 20 minutes. Showered. Changed. And went to JJ Moons for dinner of hamburger and fries. Four more hours until OL arrives.

The exotic fruit tart was amazing, such a vast selection of fruit – I defiantly surpassed my 5-a-day – although there’s still one fruit that I’m yet name…I’ll have to have another to help me figure it out ; )

Packaged with class.

Exotic Fruit Tart Side 1

Exotic Fruit Tart Side 2

The Butter Market, prior to its redevelopment, housed several rather shabby, low-key little shops//stalls selling freshly made sandwiches, O’ Hagan’s sausages (that I couldn’t eat but salivate after), pet supplies and other local-ish small businesses. When news came out that a complete overhaul was in the pipework, everyone was fully aware that this would also bring in a hefty rent increase which could only be afforded by retail chains at the high end of the market and most probably not local.

I liked the old Butter Market. With the WI stall and its ladies who sold clingfilm wrapped Victoria Sponges most definitely made with margarine and unmatching jars of jam with disproportionate sugar/fruit ratio. There was Splitz, the fresh sandwich stall that would make doorstop sandwiches to order. These weren’t dainty M&S sandwiches, you seriously had to open up and say ‘aaaah’ for Splitz sandwiches. They’re now selling pre-packs at the local newsagent, their sandwiches slimmer in order to fit into those clear plastic sandwiches wedges. There also used to be a fishmonger a long long time ago, back when I was at the delightful side of 20s.

There were no build-up prior to Patisserie Valerie opening. Around a week before their opening day, a poster was put up advertising some job vacancies from waiting staff, baristas and management.

So, we took a seat in the corner which allowed us a full visual of the establishment.

Seeing that we hadn’t really planned to stop for a bite (which is always the story of our lives), Slaveboy and I decided to share our sweet & savoury. He ordered a cappuccino for himself and I a hot chocolate. We went for an Eggs Benedict Royal (toasted brioche, smoked salmon, 2 poached eggs and Hollandaise sauce) and for sweet, I choose the Selva, which according to the waitress, was delicious and involved rum (she might have meant the other cake but I can’t remember and that was another bugbear, many of the cakes had fancy names with no description alluding to what they really are).

Let’s set the common ground rules here for cappuccino. We like a bit of creamy froth with the coffee. Not the other way around. Yes? Do we all agree with that? Well, it took Slaveboy several spoon excavation of froth to get to the coffee.

The coffee was bitter, and in no way smooth and there is simply no excuse to produce such substandard coffee when you have a decent coffee machine. I reckon this has more to do with the fact that Patisserie Valerie was still advertising for baristas around a week before their scheduled opening.

My hot chocolate, if someone had blindfolded me, was no different in taste and texture to the sort you get in packets from your local Travel Lodge. It was nothing special, powdery and left a gritty residue in the bottom of the mug a slightly saccharine flavoured unpleasant taste in my mouth.

And Patisserie Valerie, do take note, the cream on top of a hot chocolate should be decadently creamy. Not aerated nothingness.

Ok. So here’s how the Eggs Benedict Royal looked like. I promise you I have not doctored with the yellowness of the Hollandaise sauce.

The brioche upon inspection, looked toasted, but it didn’t taste like it had been. It was quite cold. The smoked salmon was plentiful but too chilled. The poached eggs weren’t rubbery (thank all the deities) but the yolks were overdone. I’m not sure if this had to do with some crazy food health & safety requirement or their research shows that the Chichester natives do not like their yolks runny but I would have loved it if they actually thought of asking me how I liked my eggs. The sauce was inoffensive, not velvety or buttery enough and the colour was mildly off-putting.

The Selva, as you can see, was squished. Now, I don’t know about you, I sorta expect near perfection if I am paying near enough £4 for a slice of cake. The was a chunk missing out of the bottom layer of the chocolate cake (which was your typical devil’s food cake concoction made out of cocoa powder and in this case, poor standard cocoa powder) and the blackberry and strawberry on the top of the cake had definitely been doused liberally with lemon juice and sugar to keep them looking fresh. Unfortunately, they failed at tasting fresh.

Going by the flavour of the cream layer in the middle, the bit that was mixed with chopped up fruits, would hazard a guess that the cake slice had not been freshly made and suffered from some freaky load of over-chilling. It really doesn’t bode too well for a newly open establishment (it was day 3) to be serving food that tasted aged.

The decor was light, airy and glitzy, with floor to ceiling mirrors at one end. There were some pretty impressive light fixings and even the obligatory dashing Robert De Niro-like waiter (I earnestly apologise for not getting a photo of him but ladies, you will know it’s him when you see him, he’s the Italian silver fox minus the grey hair). However, they were very much let down by various waiting staff congregating in the hub of the restaurant, looking lost and pensive. The carton of milk that they used for making the coffee more often than not was left on the same counter that was used to place the drinks that were waiting to be served, also the same counter that is used by customers who were sugaring their takeaway hot drinks. There was an uncleared pile of spilled ground coffee beans at the coffee machine and the cleaning staff was not briefed enough to answer any questions about their menu.

Like so many chains, Patisserie Valerie does appear to suffer from having muchos money financing what has become a drive for globalisation. The fact that they are a FOOD establishment is secondary. You couldn’t smell the passion. In fact, you couldn’t really smell anything. Just money changing hands and noone really standing up asking for better.

Marks out of 5?
An I-Should-Know-Better-Than-To-Expect-More 0.75 out of 5.

My advice? Save your pennies, walk a few yards up North Street, and have a Macari’s cappuccino. Seriously. I did a few days later. It tasted better and was half the price.

Patisserie Valerie is mere soft core food porn. Without the money shot.

A new branch of Teapod, empty when we arrived at around 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. Perhaps this branch is too new to have been found yet, or is the wrong side of Covent Garden for the tourists. Anyway, we had the place almost to ourselves and a choice of tables so sat looking out onto the street at folks going past.

There is a choice of loose leaf teas, I went for oolong, a semi fermented tea that can be drunk without milk. The tea leaves are green and the tea itself pours as a green-y straw coloured liquid, depending on how long you brew for. Very gentle and very drinkable. Earl Grey came served with milk. Teas are served in individual tea pots with internal mesh to hold the leaves. So that you can choose to remove the leaves when your brewing time is up.

As well as the tea we ordered a decaf latte, two cream cheese bagels and a toasted cheese sandwich. I have to give credit for the cheese toastie – came made with brown bread that had seeds, definite plus points! In total this came to £15.20 (so feels much more reasonable than the Patisserie Valerie on Bedford Street where we had one hot milk, one coffee, one iced tea, one tart, two scoops of ice cream and two scoops of sorbet for £17 in the afternoon, while sitting in the basement).

All in all this is a good spot for tea with breakfast, lunch or cake. The only downside is that service was a wee bit slow and confused -  the food did seem to take a while to arrive and there was a slight mix up bringing us a pot of tea that was for the only other customers in the shop. I think that when the cafe and staff have bedded in this will hopefully sort itself out. In the meantime, this a good place for a quiet cuppa.

(NB: This is a pay-when-you-leave cafe, and I nearly forgot, which would have been a pity as I’d never have been able to go back…)

A popular perception of what Jack The Ripper might have looked like

The Jack the Ripper tour is a great atmospheric way to walk the murky footsteps of the Ripper who completed five murders in a short space of time in London’s East End. The murders were committed mainly over the summer months, so film-fans, I’m afraid to say a great deal of poetic and historic licence has been taken in the many Ripper gore-fest films as there would have been no fog or mist shrouding that suspicious figure lurking in the shadows. Further information reveals any well dressed psychopath would definitely not have worn a cloak or tall hat at that time as neither were in fashion.

Our guide on the night revealed many of the stop-off points on the walk were still used as filming venues and she had glimpsed Gywneth Paltrow in costume not far from Brick Lane. Priced at only £7 per person, our walk was booked through Jack The Ripper Walk and represented excellent value for money.

Having completed the walk, we checked into the Dean Street Townhouse, high in glamour and low in price providing you’re lucky enough to book one of the ‘Tiny’ rooms at £95 per night. We were lucky, very lucky, to secure such a deal and have as yet been unable to repeat the feat.

The room was extremely cosy with what felt like fine Egyptian cotton sheets along with a wide array of snacks and peanuts in the mini bar. Warning: please don’t repeat our mistake and scoff the nuts thinking they’re free. They’re not, and £17 is a lot to spend on munchies. On the plus side the bathroom is full of fragrant Cowshed products which are free to use in the room – but come with a hefty price tag should you attempt to stuff them into your toiletry bag.

Popular with celebs, Quentin Tarantino had been spotted in the restaurant but he was nowhere to be seen during our stay. On the plus side we did manage to rub shoulders with Tracy Emin’s pencil drawing as we tucked into a full English Breakfast at £11 per head. Coffee and water were complimentary as was the loud business meeting at the next table we were forced to endure for the duration of our breakfast.

Soho Celeb-Spotting

Dean Street Townhouse is perfectly placed if you’re a celebrity spotter and Soho has always reaped great rewards for the ardent star stalker. I’ve seen Ricky Gervais twice, Jarvis Cocker, I’ve sat behind Ricky Hatton at Patisserie Valerie (just round the corner on Old Compton Street) whilst Bill Nighy and Michelle Dewsberry walked by, not together I hasten to add.

I’ve sat inside Patisserie Valerie and watched David Bailey and wife Catherine stroll in, Howard Jacobson brushed past me too and last time I was there former Heartbeat actor Jason Durr was talking loudly in a mid Atlantic drawl to his equally loud American friend. And that was weird, the real life Mike Bradley sat behind an actor who made a name for himself playing a character called…Mike Bradley.

Soho is home to numerous post-production houses where everyone does their voice-overs or catches up with their agents. I’ve seen Mike Leigh and Lenny Henry there too. You can observe the comings and goings at the Groucho Club on Dean Street or The Ivy on West Street and my tip would be to keep your eyes peeled at all times.

Scott’s Restaurant, Mount Street, Mayfair is where Nigella Lawson and Charles Saatchi are often papped. It’s a posh fish restaurant. We lunched there but were disappointed to only rub shoulders with the many businessmen tucking into their fish and chips. Nigella was nowhere to be seen but photographer Terry O’Neill did pop in so all was not lost.

Frank Finlay hopping on the tube, Josie Lawrence hurrying down Oxford Street, I tell you, the stars are everywhere!

Whilst everybody else has been sleeping over the holidays, enjoying skiing, or whatever it is people do this time of year, the art world has been a busy little bee. An array of SPLENDID EVENTS has been lined up for you all – if you know where to look, that is. Jack has compiled a quick calendar of London essentials for your diary, from blockbusters to not-really-exhibitions – outline these in whatever fancy pen you have and top up your Oyster card: they’re not to be missed.

Read the rest of the piece here on pages 69-71 of the magazine.

Sorry to disappoint but I have to keep today’s post relatively brief: It is a Monday and I have some errands to run.

Quick Boxy Brown update: he is in London!  Not sure what part of the city or when he is due to arrive but expect some waterworks when we are reunited.  I’m completely cereal:  Nicholas Sparks has already agreed in principle to a book/movie deal.

Now, Sunday.  After waking up around noon, my friend Brian Griffin (Yep, thats his name) decided to spend the afternoon walking around the city checking out some stores and seeing some new sights that aren’t on a map.  Unfortunately, we forgot that walking through a city on a Sunday means that you’re not going to have much opportunity to stop and snap some pictures since everyone and everything is out doing essentially the same thing.  So after stopping for lunch at Patisserie Valerie (http://www.patisserie-valerie.co.uk/ - I broke my own rule and ate at the same restaurant twice before February) where I had an amazing sandwich.  Look at this deal: prosciutto, artichoke hearts, mascarpone, and rocket on a toasted ciabatta roll with fries and a salad for under £8!  Pictures are up on Picasa and the Facebook later today so you can see how massive this plate of food was.  Also, I’ll go into detail about rocket tomorrow.

After lunch we walked down Marylebone High St towards Oxford Circus where we set off east down Oxford St.  After stopping in a few stores to see if there was anything worthwhile, we turned right and headed south into Soho.  We passed countless music stores, second hand bookstores, pubs, and some great clothing stores as well.  Despite not actually purchasing anything (London is so damn expensive), we learned a lot about where to go if we do need something and saw some cool sights along the way.  As it started to get later and colder we went east again into Holborn where we found… a Krispy Kreme (http://www.krispykreme.co.uk/)!  Not having had one of their doughnuts since high school and seeing it as a sign from Britannia that I should have an original glazed, I was once again reminded why they were so popular at everyone’s birthday when I was in elementary school.  Before taking the tube back to Marylebone to do some homework, I stopped at a sporting goods store to pick up a new wallet that fit the awkwardly shaped English bills and with a zipper to hold their immense variety of change.

After some various homework in the library, I met up with some friends at the local Sports Bar & Grill (http://www.sportsbarandgrill.co.uk/ – The English really are not creative with their titling).  Despite the unimpressive title, I had one of the best burgers in my life (seriously, it was fantastic) and was treated to a rather underwhelming performance by the Bears, allowing the Packers to make SB:XLV (Told ya so) and a weak first half from the Jets that allowed America’s Big Ben (the one here is more impressive and less touchy-feely) to get to his 3rd SB in 6 years (Double told ya so).

Song of the Day: NYC Moves to the Sound of LA – Funeral Party – Golden Age of Knowhere: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1ZR9R9LVeQ: Album out today, coming to London 10/2, great LA band who realizes that no one outside of NYC thinks New Yorkers are as great as they think they are.  Denny Green knows what I’m talking about.

My semi-weekend was spent well, loitering about London visiting a few old favourites and a few new ones. On the upside, I loaded up on macarons and strawberry tarts from Laduree and Patisserie Valerie and on the downside, Harrods is still heaving with an unbelievably insane crowd due to the “Sale”.

I like to think that it was this crowd that pushed me brutally towards the Food Hall. And I blame them for forcing me to buy a couple of darling little poussins.

And of course you cannot really go about town in London without spending a few quids on clothes, shoes and accessories. And so I did. A gorgeous Jane Norman number in black and purple, a pair of leather wedges from Aldo and a yellow carry-all from River Island. Bounty? Oh yes.

The whole experience was obviously a break from my daily routine of curling up under the duvet and type away at the laptop and cooking poached egg curries (that invariably get slightly burnt on the underside). Three days, no worries. Ashwin and I lunched at China Town where he tried chicken’s feet for the first time and then keeled over when he realised there were more bones than flesh. But at least he spent two hours learning to use chopsticks at Busaba Eathai over a bowl of pad-thai and a crab soup. We spent Friday evening (after drenching ourselves to the bone in rain) sipping hot chocolates at Freggo, a teeny-weeny little cafe right behind Nat Geo at Piccadilly Circus, the almost dark alley gleaming in front of us. Another lunch included monstrous burgers at Byron, after dragging heavy shopping bags around Shepherd’s Bush. A stroll through the Tate and Burlington Arcade added the finishing touches to the weekend. And that was just what I needed to clear my head and refresh myself.

And now, the pictures.