Birthday Meal

It was Bails' birthday on the 3rd, we were too busy to meet until this evening. We stopped by the Hoxton Apprentice for a leisurely meal and a couple of cocktails, sitting outside in the evening sunshine. Loverly. Much excitement when we arrived becuase Bez had arrived just before us and despite the fact that everyone was Hoxton trendy they couldn't help but exude that kind of excitement reserved for celebrity spotting (most uncool, honestly, celebrities really are two a penny in London, pah!)

Love sitting in this serenity watching the people in the hubbub of the bar across the street, all crammed into an open space fenced in by Grolsch netting. One outside section was being cleared to make way for the entrance to a subterranean bar which was hosting a press launch of something and a private party. A group of young men arrived all dressed to the nines with those sort of messed-up, could-be-70s, could-be-the-evolution-of-the-hoxton-fin haircuts, all the trendy men's styles were here both hair and clothes. I reckoned a band. Bails said, "but if that's true where are the instruments?". I said, "they brought those earlier, did the soundcheck and then went home to get dolled up, doh!" She really had to agree.

Meanwhile a group of young people came and sat down for a bottle of wine - 2 girls 2 boys. On returning from the loo one excitedly exclaimed that Bez, yeah Bez was inside. What inside here? Yes. Really? Yes. When did you see him? When I went to the loo (obviously these weren't the brightest young things in the matchbox). The conversation quickly went on to something else. Everyone excitedly talking about travel, work, places in loud voices. One boy started on about playing poker. And like when you hit on anybody's obsessively favourite topic managed to drone on about flushes, straights, betting, getting a hand, to the point that he could have been a stamp collector.

Labour party campaigners from the polling station up the street passed by wearing plenty of stickers and rossettes.

Bez and his stick-thin girlfriend left the restuarant and the group of four stood up to crane over the railings to check out where he went (literally next door it transpired, "Oh Bez lives there! I was going to live in that block," Mr Poker exclaimed).

Whilst we watched the queue for the private press launch party grow, kept under control by a bouncer with bigger sunglasses than any of the must-be-cool guests and a tequila girl (cowboy hat, pinstripe jacket with screenprinted logos), the young people started one of those conversations that begins, "Oh we're getting too old for that kind of mid-week partying". It transpires they ranged in age from the ancient 21 to 24.

Labour party campaigners walked back to the polling station. Presumably been on a knock around.

And then Bez came back out with stick-insect girlfriend and stick-insect friend to join the queue. Cue more gushing and trying-not-to-stare staring.

We left in order to get back to our beds, certain that it must be way past our bedtimes (being 35 and everything - well I am almost, Bails is already, cos like she's older than me!)