What a day, with a 6am start we had a breakfast meeting with a client kick started by two double shots of espresso in StarBucks, quite why anyone buys coffee from StarBucks unless they absolutely have to is beyond me, all of their coffee is so bitter, it lacks any of the depth of say Illy; anyhoo, meeting over with we headed into Notting Hill to trawl the estate agents, found half of them including Faron Sutaria hadn’t bothered to follow up on simple instructions, and those who we hadn’t already looked with were all short/under-staffed; needing to make a decision we took another look at a place we’d seen earlier in the week and decided to take it then and their, so paperwork done we signed off on the new flat: just need to pay up the deposit before the moving date and then we’ll be the proud new inhabitants of a rather nice 2nd floor flat (2nd if you’re using the ground/first/second floor model) right on Notting Hill Gate, couldn’t be happier to be honest.
With it being 30°C we decided against using the tube or the buses as both are as bad as each other in high-summer; so we walked from Notting Hill to Soho, forgetting entirely that EuroPride was on we stumbled in Old Compton Street to find it awash with poofs of all shapes and sizes, although we quickly figured that most of the twinky types had buggered off to hyde park leaving the rather more eye-candy-licious bears to play in Soho: other than a bitch fight between two trannies (it had to be seen to be believed), it all passed off rather well, we sat in our usual bolt-hole watching the world go by, amusing ourselves at the thought of someone seriously believing that the world could be changed simply by donning blue hotpants. I was amazed quite frankly at the drama some of the stewards made each time an ambulance was required; for some reason there didn’t seem to be a straight ambulance route to Soho Square so they brought three up Frith Street (which was a. packed, and b. filled with Bar Italia’s tables), so every time they needed to bring an ambulance down, two of the campest tits you can imagine ran up and down the street with a siren. Not what you might call restrained crowd control.
After the best part of thirty quid’s worth of food and coffee we decided that we’d had enough and started to wander back to Notting Hill, taking the 94 home; it was once again reinforced why the Routemaster should never have been scrapped when a militant lesbian decided she was going to spend ten minutes shouting at the driver who wouldn’t (or more to the point couldn’t) take her money when she should have bought a ticket before boarding the bus, by the third yelp of “take my fucking money” i was ready to go downstairs and kick her off the bus myself, finally the driver gave in let her ride for free and let the rest of us get on with our journey.
Getting off the bus we were just about to cross the road when I stepped off the pavement, fell into a 6 inch pot hole and ended up flat on my face sprawled between two parked cars f’ing and blinding in agony, I’ve ended up twisting my ankle badly (it’s swelled up to twice it’s normal size) I’ve walloped my other knee leaving a huge bruise and a graze, I’ve hurt both wrists trying to stop myself from falling and I clunked my elbow on a cars bumper, all in all I’m not a happy chappy, quite why the pothole wasn’t fixed I don’t know, as it’s directly outside the tube station and it’s obscured by the high kerb not to mention being in a place people regularly use to cross the road. An ignominious end to what wasn’t actually all too bad a day; I’m pissed off though as with only a month to go before moving house I’m going to spend the best part of next week hobbling around like an invalid… bugger.