Uncle Dubya keeps telling us that terrorists "hate freedom". So why is it that every time they attack us, we appease them by removing some of our freedom? Doesn't that mean they've won?
Our local council clearly isn't taking the terror threat seriously. They sent some cardboard leaflets telling us what they're doing and the like. How could they be so stupid?
Everybody knows that the way to tackle terrorism is to send a fridge magnet to every household. Surely Britain could learn a thing or two from Australia's demonstrated best practice here?
Been a busy few weeks and I've got a buttload of photos.
Holly took me out to the River Cafe for dinner tonight. Absolutely brilliant feed. I had squid with chilli and rocket, Holly had prosciutto with charantais melon for entrees. Mine was perfect, not so sure about the combination of melon and ham. I found the melon (perfectly ripe, beautifully sweet) overpowered the ham. We shared spinach and ricotta ravioli with parmesan. Perfect!
For mains, I had scallops with chilli, beautiful. Haven't had scallops in a long time. Holly had salt-roasted sea bass with balsalmic vinegar and oregano flowers. The oregano flowers were beautiful and aromatic.
Dessert was a delicious summer pudding and lemon/strawberry sorbet. Gorgeous, particularly on such a loverly warm night, sitting outside next to the Thames.
A lovely meal.
On my way home from work this evening, while riding through Trafalgar Square the coppers had blocked off traffic. Turns out ol' big ears was coming through, probably been reports of a fox on Whitehall or something. Anyway, being the larrikan Aussie I am, I eloquently shouted out "Get a fucken job, inbred twat"
As I continued on my journey up The Mall (yes, my commute rocks), this young toff rides up alongside me and starts defending the creepy tampon fancier. "He does great work for the countryside and charity," says he in his plum voice. "He does great work for charity with my fucking tax money," retorts I. "Listen mate, don't you want an English head of state, rather than some greco-german inbred?"
Anyway, conversation wasn't going anyway but certainly an odd ride home. I was amused, anyway.
A discussion on london.food about katsu gave me the idea of making a katsu curry tomorrow night when Scott and Katie come around for dinner. These are the ingredients I bought from the Japanese and Korean supermarket at the bottom of Centrepoint. I love that place, and it's just across the road from my new work.
So basically, katsu curry is the sauce. Think a kinda sweet, mild curry. You crumb and fry some meat or vegetables, serve that on rice and cover in the sauce. Yum! Thanks to Yasuyo for showing me how.
Well in case you're wondering, Holly and I are fine after today's bombings. I rode my bike into work. Tavistock and Russell Squares are a few blocks from my work. Everyone at work (old and new) is fine too, it seems.
Today is my last day working at Pilat Media. Judging from this nice little news story, not a moment too soon! What a delightful area.
Anyway, I now have a week off work including Glastonbury, then start Tuesday next week at Searchspace.
Adult. from Detroit are probably the most exciting techno act I've heard this century. Kinda somewhere like New Wave Techno. NME's description: "If John Lydon was a mad scientist, and he decided to make a fembot lover out of a skip load of The Human League's old sex toys, his metal mistress would be Nicola Kuperus of Detroit's Adult."
Friends of mine just saw them in Moscow and said the gig was fantastic. Here in London, for some reason, they're supporting another band from Detroit who I've never heard of called "The Dirtbombs" and the gig is on a Monday.
Gig is at 93 Feet East, so expect "ironic" haircuts and too-kool-for-skool people.
This piece describes an "innovative" modular housing system. It's quite clever and interesting, but for one thing...
While cooking, the couch becomes the ceiling, the dining table a wall. Which begs the question: I've just cooked my spaghetti and wnat to sit at the dining table. How do I turn the thing without my spaghetti ending up on the ceiling (which is the dining table, sure, but I like to eat off a plate).