8 posts from May 2009

The Narrow Pub - A Real Shithole

I live probably less than a couple of hundred meters from the "famous" Narrow Pub, run/owned/pissed in by Gordon "fuckass" Ramsey. That's right the "famous" chef with a proclivity for swearing at everyone and thinking he's a great chef. 

Well, in the almost three years I have been here I went to his shithole of a pub exactly twice.

This is my online review of his place which I frequented yesterday (this was the second time) and it reminded me of why I haven't been there for over a year. And I think people should know.

Honestly it would not be hard to make this place a success. It is filled with drunks regularly anyway because it's a pub and it's on the river, so the view is good and in this country getting drunk on whatever is on tap is a religious duty observed with clockwork regularity, however, this place is supposedly also a gourmet restaurant.

The first time we went everyone was disgusted with both the food, the service, the stupidity and incompetence of the staff in general and the price-tag. But that was over a year ago and the other nearby place I used to go to regularly has changed ownership and the new chef there seems to think garlic is manna from the sky which goes with all foods. How would you like some tuna-steak drenched in garlic? Pasta of any sort? Garlic in it. Cup-fulls. Vegetarian risotto? It might be, you'll never know thanks to the garlic. So given Friday was a sunny day and we had nothing to do except wander about and chill, I thought, let's go to the Narrow and just have a snack and a drink. How bad could it really be.

Bad. Very bad.

So here's my review. I am taking the style of a formal write-up as if I were to be published in the Times. I think it will make it more tollerable for me to recount the events this way.

We arrived at the Narrow at a couple of minutes past one. We went to the bar and I asked if they were serving food. I was immediately informed the kitchen was now closed and they were only doing pub food and not the main restaurant. A little odd given the time but ok, after all no one has ever accused a truly British establishment of working too hard, besides we only wanted a snack so it's fine. We order a bottle of sparkling water, a plate of bangers and mash for me and fishcakes of two fishes with salad for Redhead Girl.

We then wait a couple of minutes for our water bottle and glasses which are eventually served to us still drenched and covered in water-spots. But you know in a surly and rude manner so it went with the ambiance.
I take it in stride and begin to make my way to one of the tables in the sun, I am stopped by the barman-creature who almost shouts that we are not allowed in there. Now I am a mild-mannered wall-flower type myself normally, but this guy's attitude is starting to make my trigger finger itch. I turn back and looking at him square in the eye say "what?" in a way that I think registers with him despite his obviously accented English. The nicer barman takes over, he seems latino or perhaps indian, I can't say, but probably at some genetic level he can feel that the retarded east-block wanker with a fucking goatee that has a little ponytail in it and a little rubber-band in it might soon be coming over this side of the counter in a hurry if he carries on with his tone.
The Mexican barman (he's Mexican from now on) explains the restaurant is closed now. I point out, still looking at the goat-fucker barman from Estonia (he's from Estonia now) that there are people sitting in there. The Mexican explains that they were there before and now the restaurant is closed. So I ask him were we can sit and he explains any table that is not "made up" - that means that does not have a napkin and lose cutlery on it. Fine.
I appreciate the effort he made even though he wasn't exactly polite either, but I have worked alongside a goat-fucker before, and take pity on him, so we go find a table.

Very shortly afterwards our "food" arrives. Mine is two bland, packet-ready sausages with some mash and gravy with some onions in it. It's basic, nothing to write home about and there are chip-shops that will sell the same thing for a third of the price and it will taste better but it's basically sausages and mash, you can't really fuck it up too much.

Redhead Girl's plate contains ONE fishcake (perhaps they blended the two varieties of fish?) that again looks straight out of a box of frozen fish-fingers type supermarket food and (I kid you not) ONE leaf of rucula, representing the salad. And some slop, that purports to be horseradish. Or baby-puke. It's a close thing and we can't tell. 
By this time we are done with the place, but wanting to be forgiving and probably because we are both childishly naivee at heart we decide to move outside in the sun and get a drink. I go back in to order a cider and an apple crumble.

Goat-fucker with the goatee with the rubber band in it is again displaying his natural charm. The place is not at all busy, there are three people at the bar, a pair of girls ordering, a black guy who is next in line and then me. Goat-fucker being a goat-fucker takes about 10 minutes to serve the two women, probably imagining graphic images of his goat back in Estonia while he nervously scratches at his balls between pouring drinks. The Mexican guy comes out to help and asks if he can serve anyone and goat-fucker immediately tells him the black guy is next. This is true and is fine with me...I am pleased he noticed the order of clientele despite his being a brain damaged syphilitic goat-fucker.

But I am premature in my optimism. Goat-fucker eventually finishes with the girls and immediately ignores me to serve the next, brand new, just walked in person. He does this clearly intentionally.
Which saves him really because I will not get upset when someone is actually trying to piss me off.
I wait then order and he immediately tells me they don't have any pear cider.

That's it. No substitute, no alternative. Just no pear cider full stop. So what cider do you have? He names them but says they are all apple. Fine. Give me an apple cider. And I order the apple crumble and he immediately says they have no vanilla ice-cream (it comes with vanilla ice-cream). I just look at him and wait. I actually look at him and lean on the counter and just keep staring at him in the eyes and I wait.
Eventually the same sense of goat-fucker self-preservation that probably limits him to raping goats instead of humans kicks in and he says they have custard or double cream. So I say fine, give me the cream. He asks custard or double cream again as if he was deaf, which he is not. I say the cream. He repeats it. Double cream? Yes.
I wait for the cider and glass and before I leave he again says...apple crumble...with double cream right?
Yes. Yes fuckwit. And just you try and wank in that apple crumble and then we'll see if your stupid pony-tail goatee comes off when I ram your head into the bar-counter by it. You dumb goat-rapist.

I go and wait for the apple crumble. 15 minutes go by. Now since the kitchen is closed there is no actual baking required. They just need to cut a fucking slice of pie and add some cream and take it over. After 15 minutes I go back in and now I am ready to receive some attitude, but also ready to give some in a way they will remember. 
Goat-fucker sees me come in and I ask him where is my apple crumble? He says it's coming, don't worry, coming. He seems a little excited which I am not sure how to take, but at the same moment a woman comes out of the kitchen with the "apple crumble".
Now. There was NO apple to be seen, but the operative word here I am sure was crumble. It was basically some kind of cereal type crunchy stuff sprinkled on a bed of what may or may not have been rhubarb with pinkish sauce. Neither of us could determine what the stringy-vegetable-looking thing was. One of them was yello-green and we left that one in the plate. I tasted the rest because I am a curious person and also I was looking for an excuse to murder the goat-fucker. I still don't know what it was but one thing is certain. I am not going to ever eat in that shithole of a place again. 

Oh and the total for this culinary delight? £ 33 and some pennies. And that is of course without any tip. The goat-fucker had the audacity to put my change in a plate at the bar to try and incite me to leave it behind. Not even the 5p coin, you fucking goat-fucking rapist. Fuck you and your stupid goatee-ponytail. And no, I don't give a shit if his whole family was sold into prostitution by the Estonian mob that morning. It's karma for all the goat-raping I say.

So Gordon, that, is why "fuckass" is your middle name now in my book. A brain damaged homeless person could manage that place better than you do. 
 

9 comments

The Natural Life Cycle of the Mosquito

Prelude: Last night - INT - Bedroom

I'm just about to go to sleep, already in bed, Redhead Girl also under the covers next to me, when I see out of the corner of my eye a disgusting fly. Doing what flies do. Fly around at night in your bedroom, waiting to land somewhere, vomit and spread radioactive pustulence, filth, poverty and contagion.

Me: "Damn. We have a fly." I hate flies.
Redhead Girl: "It's not a fly babe, it's a mosquito. Flies make a noise."
Me: "It's a fly. If that's a mosquito it's on horse steroids."
Redhead Girl: "No, it's a mosquito, they fly like that..."
Me: (Looking at her incredulously) "That's a fly." Pointing with my finger at the small pterodactyl floating about the room.
Redhead Girl: (Less convinced) "But where would it come from..." Being as we're on the fifth floor it's not an unreasonable question but I suspect whatever goes on on the terrace on the floor above us it may attract flies, bats, possibly mutated vampires and much protozoic lifeforms.*
"What do you mean to do..." She asks with the innocence of childhood.

"Kill it." I get out of bed and strike the offending plague carrier with an item of clothing in mid air. Just enough to stun it to the ground, not enough to splash it on the clothing used. It's a subtle art the murder of flies. I dispose of the corpse with a tissue by flushing it in the toilet.  It is the end of yet another adventurous day, and we go to sleep shortly afterwards.

***

Morning, the next day. We woke early and later, still in bed, for some reason the fact I found two moths in my clothes closet is disturbing me and I mention we need to get mothballs, or some other way to make sure we get rid of them before they reduce my clothing to the generic homless person look. What bugs me more than the bugs is their provenience though. We are pretty fastidiously clean people, my ninja-trained maid vacuums regularly, there's no dust in the apartment. It's mysterious and I voice my thought aloud: "But where do they come from...?"

Redhead Girl: "Mosquitos."
Me: (Doing a double take) "Mosquitos?!?"
Redhead Girl: "Yes. Mosquitoes."
Me: "What?!? How...?" I'm actually still trying to process the concept here...
Redhead Girl: "I'm telling you, yes it's mosquitos. They do this." 
Me: "What... So...yes...of course...it's the natural life cycle of the mosquito. Larvae - Mosquito - Moth ... and Werewolf of course....yes! I see it now, it's obvious!"
Redhead Girl: Laughing "It's true I'm telling you!"
Me: Laughing "Yes, you're right of course. It's just my natural ignorance of the life cycle of the mosquito. Silly me. How could I have missed it! Egg - Larva - Mosquito - Moth - Werewolf...and Vampire? Maybe Vampire too. It depends doesn't it...yes only the vicious anopheles mosquito turns into vampires though. Only for a day of course, but yes, yes, I see it now... thanks babe, mystery solved!"

And so there you have it readers. Just in case you were wondering. The true (and little discussed) life cycle of the deceptive, chamaleontic, polymorphic mosquito. May all new textbooks include this important information missed out of our science curriculum for far too long!


***


*Actually directly above me lives Gary, who's a very nice guy, quiet, neat, has a kick-ass home-entertainment system that basically converts his whole place into a cinema with the push of two buttons and I'm sure he keeps his Voodo rituals down to a minimum. But at some point I think some French people lived on the top floor. So you see how it would go.

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See how you compare with your countrymen

http://mingle2.com/sex_quiz/index2


It basically asks you how many people you had sex with and then gives you statistics on the averages received.

As far as I can tell from other surveys it seems roughly accurate.

Oh... and apparently oral sex doesn't count. Supposedly if you come home to the wife giving head to the garden-boy, or the husband getting vacuumed by the maid it's all just par for the course.

I guess Bill Clinton is still part of the cabal that runs the world...

Let me know how you do people. My score was scandalous so all traces of my results were firebombed.

18 comments

Losing my Religion

Well, I'm off to a Russian Orthodox church tomorrow.

It was a bit of a conspiracy to make sure I get to it, but then again, it's hard to say no to a bunch of ex-spetsnaz guys who want to save your soul.

I'm actually kind of looking forward to it.
They even asked me if I wanted to go early for confession. I put my hands up and said let's take it easy here... I'm not even baptised. Couldn't help it really, it was a spontaneous reaction.



If you are wondering at the images of Mary...well...I kind of have a soft spot for her really. I never really agreed with the rather patriarchal set up of the church. Along with a whole bunch of other stuff (most of it). To be honest, my view of it is closer to the Ard Ri story as told in the graphic novel of Slaine, The Horned God.



So yeah. I just hope smoke doesn't rise from the ground as soon as I step over the threshold.

Wish me luck all you heathens.

5 comments

Blame Canada

My absence is due to my being in Toronto and learning new and more powerful Jedi skills.

Before I left London we did a class where I tried to pass on some of the kindness shown to me by my Latvian friend who had KGB friends. This entailed generally being placed in really painful positions until you can control your panic enough to learn that you can actually still breathe. And eventually, possibly escape. A little. Maybe.

Here's a picture from that session. The guy being folded up is Luis, he's Spanish and sometimes has to think a bit before verbalising concepts in English. This means we can fold him up for longer of course. Alex is the guy in the foreground, he's young but quite good. Hawar is hidden in the back and Vidyo is standing on him while locking his arms.

DSC01453
DSC01453

Tomorrow morning I have a private session with Max, who's been training with Vladimir for more than 10 years. I have no idea what he will do to me, but I am already sore from the two sessions of training I have had since landing here and I am a little upset at all my injuries stacking up so that I can't train at full force all the time. Then again, Systema is supposed to allow you to use whatever functionality you have and yesterday I did manage to get a Russian boxer that has at least 20kg if not 30 on me and who also bodybuilds for fun in a lock that wore him out. And wrestling is my worst skill so overall I was pleased. 

On my arrival in Canada I went to stay here.

And yeah. It was as classy inside as that sign suggests.
Complete with used soap on the sink and not one but two different really long hairs on the pillows when you pulled down the covers. At least no wet spots on the sheets though. Needless to say I moved (for little more money after I asked for a discount) to a much nicer hotel. A Best Western. Which I love because their beds are amazing.


So yeah...kind of happy. I am reading and doing some writing for a web-site that needs to go up soon, because gentle readers, my life is changing pretty rapidly. As you may have recalled some events occurred not too long ago. I can now basically tell you a little bit more. My work is definitely changing. 
In effect I now only work two days a week with the French firm and the rest of the time I teach Systema (try to learn is what I really want to do though!) and soon I will be also starting up professionally something I have been doing for a number of years as a hobby or part time anyway. The Clinical Hypnosis.

So sometime in the next month or so expect to see my new site all ready for public viewing. It's taken a very long time to get done and I am still finishing it up, but sometime soonish I hope to regale you with a site that will actually have genuinely interesting stuff on it. Apart from the degenerate stuff you find here I mean.

So that's the change I am and have been and will be going through. The reasons this came about however I have not told you yet, but soon you will know all dear readers. Unless one of the ninjas here breaks my neck before I get to it of course. So far though I'm still alive. We'll see if this is still the case tomorrow after two sessions.

In the meantime, I leave you with a picture of some ice over the Atlantic, which was a first for me to see.




12 comments

Martian Wear - Never be confused with a pathetic Earthling again!

There you go gentle readers. As you will see from the link in the last post I have begun my conquest of your planet.

If you click on the link you will see there is a small but soon to be growing range of clothing and accessories for the discerning Martian.

(Male, female and baby clothing too)

 

It's really best you wear the regulation uniforms distinguishing fashion, for when the First Wave arrives, so that you will be easily spotted as a friendly Martian Refugee and thus not be deep-fried by zap rays. Or sold as a per to Zeta Reticulans.

 

I will also be away for a couple of weeks now. I am going to Canada (Toronto) to be even further trained in powerful supernatural abilities for making the takeover of your planet even easier.

By the time I come back from Toronto I expect the loyal Martians among you to have begun the subversive takeover of Terra. Work hard and soon we will have wrested this planet from these scimians despite their superior numbers!

 

Scouts!

To me!

We will make way for The First Wave!

 

 

17 comments

G-Man Wear

G-Man Wear
G-Man Wear
http://www.g-man.spreadshirt.net/
Boutique-Wear for the Discerning Martian. Never be confused with a pathetic Earthling again!
Post a comment Tags: accessories, first wave, martians, clothing range

Vodka and KGB Death Sentences

So I still can't tell you guys the life-altering news yet...but to try and make up for it, here's a little story about a good guy who now lives in the UK and I consider a good friend of mine even though it's not like we talk much. Mostly over the last week he has been helping me learn more deeply some systema principles and he does this by basically putting me in the most painful positions you can imagine. Putting me in an arm or head or leg lock and basically going to the point where my body essentially thinks "dude...that is an arm I actually kinda like...It would be cool to still have it with me on the way home today..." it is scary and painful work...until the point you realise just what it actually is really teaching your body when you eventually get so drained you can't panic anymore. It removes deep-set injuries, fears, physical blocks (and their corresponding psychological ones) from your system.

 

So a few weks ago it was St. George's day and we go to this guy's pub. He used to work for the Soviet state and he was trained by a guy who basically trained KGB assassins back when the KGB was still called the KGB.

 

Anyway the man is brilliant at systema but he's a useless businessman, he served us half-price drinks all night despite our trying hard to force money in his till. After whichever vodka shot it was I asked him to go on and tell me some story from his KGB days. To which he replied naturally that he never worked with them directly. They were only "friends", sort of. But he never worked for them directly. And you know...sometimes it was a bit of a strained relationship.

 

Particularly the year they sentenced him to death 4 times. In one year.

From most people this kind of story would sound like utter bullshit. From this guy, it's probably toned down.

Anyway each time they rescinded the order basically because his file was a foot thick with all sorts of fucked up work he did for the army. It would kind of look bad and be bad for morale to kill a guy that had done so much in such short time. He had also made some friends in the trenches so to speak and it all helped I guess.

At the risk of being a bit invasive I asked him why he had been sentenced to death so many times. What the fuck did he do?

 

He rather shily admitted his terrible sin.

He refused to swear alegiange to the Soviet State.

Four times.

In a row.

Or to put it the way he expressed it to me: "Dey want me to swear oath and I refuse. I told dem: I will do dis for my family. Not for your big fucking cuntry."

He never did swear that oath.

 

I love this guy. They just don't make people like him often on this planet. Plus, despite all his knowledge he is one of the most humble, nicest guys you'll ever met.

The fact he can actually kill most people I have ever met who have done Martial arts most of their lives in probably something like 2 minutes flat if he was taking his time about it is just a quirky personality trait.

 

So here's a drink to my friend.

 

Nastarovya!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Zap gun in hand, will our hero find his Starship? Tune in every week to find out!

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