Went with Corie and Gus to a Polish restaurant in Hammersmith, to celebrate Lynn's birthday.
LOCATION: 96 Fulham Palace Road, London W6.
A pain in the bum for East Londoners, but easy to find, just south of Hammersmith flyover on Fulham Palace Road. 5 mins walk from station.
AMBIANCE: (8/10) Local, relaxed, quiet.
SERVICE: (10/10) Lovely, friendly, family-centric. This reminds me a bit of my favourite restaurant, Boneparte in Hornchurch another fine restaurant in the most unlikely of areas. It feels family run, though who knows? Service actually was pretty close to perfect actually with no fuss about the two guide dogs we bought with us. On leaving, the maitre d', a wonderfully helpful lady, gave us a couple of bottles of beer to take home with us. Never have I been offered service like this.
THE GRUB: (10/10) Quite frankly, I can only find the tiniest quibble with the food here and that is that there wasn't enough of it. Far from being stingy, the problem I had was that I just wanted to unzip my stomach and start all over again. I had the Hunters Plate to start with - a combination of chopped smoked meats in a rich gravy, served with bread and butter. Main for me was lamb rolled in bacon and onion and served with saute potatoes, beetroot, sauerkraut and cooked cabbage. Divine. Dessert was warm pancakes filled with soft cheese, apple and sultanas. By the usual standards of grub, this was both unusual, filling and and well made food. Tiny it was not.
VERDICT: I don't want to tell people about this. If you find it, keep it to yourself as its one of London's best kept cullinary secrets, surely. We found a couple of similar restaurants in New York. Local, well-kept little places hiding in the back streets, frequented by those who know the deal and like what they get. Off the tourist trail and all the better for it.
£20 per head with beers.
9.5/10 and my Pick of the Year 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Yet another...
...another dead rat that is.
Our house is going to be full of dead rats.
Horrible, horrible, horrible.
At least the grey grey grass is now the grey grey stones of home. Looks like we're nearly finished. Photo to follow (when its light enough for anything to come out).
By the way and apropos bollocks-all, I heard the Beatles LOVE album on Saturday and the bits I've heard are brilliant.
Our house is going to be full of dead rats.
Horrible, horrible, horrible.
At least the grey grey grass is now the grey grey stones of home. Looks like we're nearly finished. Photo to follow (when its light enough for anything to come out).
By the way and apropos bollocks-all, I heard the Beatles LOVE album on Saturday and the bits I've heard are brilliant.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Rat
Today my dad became an official hero. Since Wednesday, we've been smelling what can only be described as a shitty smell in our toilet. Now I know a toilet is occasionally meant to smell of shit. Maybe only the Queen's smells of roses all the time. For the rest of us great unwashed...
Anyway, on Thursday I remarked that our landscape gardener Lee must have dumped an enourmously stinking load because, I said, it whiffed like the portable khazis you find at festivals. On Friday, it had got worse. By the evening, when we returned from work, Mrs D/D noticed that the small had moved into the living room. Now, in east London, it seems the majority of bathroosms, like ours, are situated downstairs. Ours is no exception, and therefore, the back wall of the bathroom seperates the downstairs cupbarod in our house. Oh fuck, we both though as it dawned on us what it might be. Its dead rat.
And behold, that's what it was. We've have rats every year for five of the seven we've lived here - we've even named them. Rufus, Reinhardt, and ths year, Roland. We've laid various baits over the years and usually they just disappear and the munching rats die somewhere else. This year's monster has been quite troublesome though. First, it munched through the wiring in our central heating boiler, more-or-less maiming it at a cost of £217. Then it ate quite a lot fo food in the kitchen. Because we've got Nicki, the ratfood eating guide beast, we needed bait a dog could not feed on, so we took the normally reliable but loose Rentokil bait away this year and replaced it with solid bait in a plastic box, whose admittance holes are too small to allow a dog to investigate too closely. In the meantime, I'd bought a bottle of Bayer granules which i left under the kitchen sink for a rainy day. Well that bottle had been bitten into and most of the contents consumed. On the side of the bottle, it says in large friendly letters "kills up to 20 rats". And that, I think, is what killed ours.
For under the bath, large as death and twice as ugly was Roland. He was very smelly, and about a minute after being found, was also very cooked as our garden incinerator cremated him. Roland, RIP. Stinking bastard.
So my dad gets a huge thanks for finding him and disposing of the cunt.
Not Roland, but they all look the same, don't they?
Anyway, on Thursday I remarked that our landscape gardener Lee must have dumped an enourmously stinking load because, I said, it whiffed like the portable khazis you find at festivals. On Friday, it had got worse. By the evening, when we returned from work, Mrs D/D noticed that the small had moved into the living room. Now, in east London, it seems the majority of bathroosms, like ours, are situated downstairs. Ours is no exception, and therefore, the back wall of the bathroom seperates the downstairs cupbarod in our house. Oh fuck, we both though as it dawned on us what it might be. Its dead rat.
And behold, that's what it was. We've have rats every year for five of the seven we've lived here - we've even named them. Rufus, Reinhardt, and ths year, Roland. We've laid various baits over the years and usually they just disappear and the munching rats die somewhere else. This year's monster has been quite troublesome though. First, it munched through the wiring in our central heating boiler, more-or-less maiming it at a cost of £217. Then it ate quite a lot fo food in the kitchen. Because we've got Nicki, the ratfood eating guide beast, we needed bait a dog could not feed on, so we took the normally reliable but loose Rentokil bait away this year and replaced it with solid bait in a plastic box, whose admittance holes are too small to allow a dog to investigate too closely. In the meantime, I'd bought a bottle of Bayer granules which i left under the kitchen sink for a rainy day. Well that bottle had been bitten into and most of the contents consumed. On the side of the bottle, it says in large friendly letters "kills up to 20 rats". And that, I think, is what killed ours.
For under the bath, large as death and twice as ugly was Roland. He was very smelly, and about a minute after being found, was also very cooked as our garden incinerator cremated him. Roland, RIP. Stinking bastard.
So my dad gets a huge thanks for finding him and disposing of the cunt.
Not Roland, but they all look the same, don't they?
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Its good to touch, the grey grey grasss...of home
Just a wee picture for the future. A future when we have a garden and not some kind of Somme-like quaggy.
This is how our garden looked between being paved and being a weed-filled "lawn".
I only hope there is a patio there next Wednesday. If there is, I shall post a picture of it in its virginal glory.
If not, bring on the Seroxat. For it is going to be rather frigging expensive.
Some rules Nicki the New Guiding Beast needs to learn
Nicky needs to learn:
1. Leaving my bones all over the house, particularly in doorways, does not friends win.
2. One lick is as good as 2 million.
3. Sometimes wrestling is not on the cards, like it or not. When THE MAN wants to watch TV or just slob out, I must join him, or at least pretend to be joining in, even though in my head I'm actually killing Yorkshire Terriers with my FIERCE bite.
4. My bark is pretty impressive, yes, but I only need to convince you once. That's enough.
5. Turding is something I am told to do, and can't, unlike alpha humans, do it when I feel, where I feel. Pavement turds mean I sleep outside in the snow. When there is no snow, I sleep outside with two peed off cats. And THREE Yorkshire Terriers.
6. When the man wants to wrestle, I am not to curl up and pretend to be dead. He does not believe me and will only hate me for being lazy.
7. Older dogs may know more than me. I must learn from them.
8. Water can be drunk at a relaxed pace. I don't need to flood the kitchen floor to drink it and it won't disappear if I don't gulp it down as if I were living in sub-saharan Africa during a drought.
9. I am a guide dog, not a pet dog. This is something I need to remember unless I want to end up prematurely in the back of the Dog Van. NOBODY KNOWS what happens in the Dog Van.
1. Leaving my bones all over the house, particularly in doorways, does not friends win.
2. One lick is as good as 2 million.
3. Sometimes wrestling is not on the cards, like it or not. When THE MAN wants to watch TV or just slob out, I must join him, or at least pretend to be joining in, even though in my head I'm actually killing Yorkshire Terriers with my FIERCE bite.
4. My bark is pretty impressive, yes, but I only need to convince you once. That's enough.
5. Turding is something I am told to do, and can't, unlike alpha humans, do it when I feel, where I feel. Pavement turds mean I sleep outside in the snow. When there is no snow, I sleep outside with two peed off cats. And THREE Yorkshire Terriers.
6. When the man wants to wrestle, I am not to curl up and pretend to be dead. He does not believe me and will only hate me for being lazy.
7. Older dogs may know more than me. I must learn from them.
8. Water can be drunk at a relaxed pace. I don't need to flood the kitchen floor to drink it and it won't disappear if I don't gulp it down as if I were living in sub-saharan Africa during a drought.
9. I am a guide dog, not a pet dog. This is something I need to remember unless I want to end up prematurely in the back of the Dog Van. NOBODY KNOWS what happens in the Dog Van.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Some pictures of Dagenham
Hardly on the tourist trail, but some nice pictures of Dagenham. Nice, that is, if you like pictures of new exciting housing developments...
....lopped trees in Pondfield Park (I thought the light was kind of sinister, matching the trees - you can almost hear those crows a-cawing....
.. and finally, an overbridge taking you from one side of the District Line to the ohter.
As I say, nice.
....lopped trees in Pondfield Park (I thought the light was kind of sinister, matching the trees - you can almost hear those crows a-cawing....
.. and finally, an overbridge taking you from one side of the District Line to the ohter.
As I say, nice.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Your guide dog questions answered
Some frequently asked questions about my wife's guide dog and some answers. Those I'd LIKE to give, anyway. I tell you, people are frigging unoriginal and the boredom value in answering them is best alleviated with a seriously cruel dose of irony. Here's my attempt at it.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
Her full legal name (in the manner of naming racehorses) is “Walker’s Potato Crisps Have Sponsored This Dog for a Poor Socially Excluded Blind Victim”. Her “working” name is “Nikki” which is a “pet” version of Tuna Nicoise, a flavour Walkers Crisps tried out in the North-East ACORN region 32 then abandoned after poor focus group survey reports. Sadly, she wasn't renamed Nacho or the sweetie-cutsie "Pickle".
“Isn’t that a cute doggy”
Yes, its cute because Guide Dogs are now genetically modifying their dogs in order that they appeal to children and bears with very little brain. The GM trials were broadly successful, but various sceptical scientists have posited that there is a high probability that dogs’ lives are reduced by over two years compared to non-GM dogs. The cost of vanity, eh?
“Is he/she your best friend”
No. My best friend, Katie, tragically died in a car accident in 1994 when her guide dog Sally pulled her in front of a fast-moving truck. The lorry driver suffered months of stress. Oddly, Nicki seems to have acquired a psychic link with my deceased friend and now leads me to her graveside where I regularly mourn while Nicki howls her poor doggy heart out.
“Can your doggy play safely with children”?
In theory YES, though she hasn’t been licensed to without a muzzle, technically required under the Dangerous Dogs Act 1988*. She hasn’t injured anyone yet. Caveat emptor…
* Clarification – she’s not as you can see, actually “dangerous”. However, since she is a working dog, like police- or military-dogs, she’s technically NOT a pet, and therefore, she is automatically subject to much harsher licensing laws than ordinary pet dogs.
“Can your dog do your washing”?
Why, YES. One of the benefits of creating a genetically modified dog is that her saliva glands have been re-aligned so they also produce a perfect oxygen/enzyme mix required to clean all manner of common household dirt to be found on clothes. My dog really appreciates getting her tongue round my husband’s skiddy pants.
“Can your dog read to you”?
Guide Dogs are continually working on giving their dogs voices that can read back text messages and issue other short commands to blind people. However, although my dog can read, and perfectly understands SMS messages and other simple text material, at this time she cannot communicate back to me. Sad but (maybe) true.
“I bet she’s the most important person in your life”?
As you might care to observe, she’s not a “person” as such, but a mere dog. My daughter is the most important person in my life, and since her dog is the most important person in her life, following the argument through, her dog is in fact the most important thing – dog or human – in my life. This may seem confusing, but honestly, it makes perfect sense once you think on. I did say daughter, by the way. I know it’s maybe an oddity to your prejudices that a) blind people have sex and b) a quick shag with the milkman feels as good to me as it does anyone else. I had to pay Mr Express Dairy danger money for his services though since he thought he might “catch” blindness from me. He was right in a manner of speaking: I gave him a dose of the syph. He went blind. Ha ha.
“I used to have one of those dogs” or “I used to look after a retired guide dog/guide dog puppy” or “I raised £25,000,000 for those blind dogs once”
So has everyone else I’ve met. Why are there so few dogs around then? Why aren't more guide dogs than ordinary dogs on the street? In fact there should be more guide dogs than humans in the whole world!! The maths just doesn’t work. Oh yes, and think about the moniker you use to define my aid: a “blind dog” is not really useful to a blind person is it?
“Why don’t all blind people have dogs?”
Simply, only really bright blind people get them. A guide dog is a fantastic mobility tool but they cost thousands of pounds to train and need a lot of sighted help in their preparation. Blind people are not worth much to society, but it is agreed by many academics, albeit reluctantly, that even those who are free of sight have their uses. I’m a fully qualified comptometer programmer at the University of East Acton. I fulfil a vital role in the running of the Government’s research project into the settlement and rehousing of Homophobian refugees. You may have noticed that most blind people don’t have guide dogs. You can be assured that these people have a lower IQ than average and are thus, in the words of Bill and Ted “NOT WORTHY”. Please pity them, and give them any small change you have, as they will be in desperate financial need not having a job nor a cute little dog as a people-magnet.
“How can I raise money for Guide Dogs”?
As a trusted user, I am a therefore an agent for the UK Guide Dogs organisation. If you wish to give direct, then any money you pass to me will be paid straight into Guide Dogs’ account. Promise. Larger amounts can be transferred securely via Western Union to the Internet bank account at:
Funraiser419@lagos-bank.ng.com
If you have any further questions about my dog, or me please email me at
Compt_programmer@east-acton.ac.uk
“What’s your dog’s name?”
Her full legal name (in the manner of naming racehorses) is “Walker’s Potato Crisps Have Sponsored This Dog for a Poor Socially Excluded Blind Victim”. Her “working” name is “Nikki” which is a “pet” version of Tuna Nicoise, a flavour Walkers Crisps tried out in the North-East ACORN region 32 then abandoned after poor focus group survey reports. Sadly, she wasn't renamed Nacho or the sweetie-cutsie "Pickle".
“Isn’t that a cute doggy”
Yes, its cute because Guide Dogs are now genetically modifying their dogs in order that they appeal to children and bears with very little brain. The GM trials were broadly successful, but various sceptical scientists have posited that there is a high probability that dogs’ lives are reduced by over two years compared to non-GM dogs. The cost of vanity, eh?
“Is he/she your best friend”
No. My best friend, Katie, tragically died in a car accident in 1994 when her guide dog Sally pulled her in front of a fast-moving truck. The lorry driver suffered months of stress. Oddly, Nicki seems to have acquired a psychic link with my deceased friend and now leads me to her graveside where I regularly mourn while Nicki howls her poor doggy heart out.
“Can your doggy play safely with children”?
In theory YES, though she hasn’t been licensed to without a muzzle, technically required under the Dangerous Dogs Act 1988*. She hasn’t injured anyone yet. Caveat emptor…
* Clarification – she’s not as you can see, actually “dangerous”. However, since she is a working dog, like police- or military-dogs, she’s technically NOT a pet, and therefore, she is automatically subject to much harsher licensing laws than ordinary pet dogs.
“Can your dog do your washing”?
Why, YES. One of the benefits of creating a genetically modified dog is that her saliva glands have been re-aligned so they also produce a perfect oxygen/enzyme mix required to clean all manner of common household dirt to be found on clothes. My dog really appreciates getting her tongue round my husband’s skiddy pants.
“Can your dog read to you”?
Guide Dogs are continually working on giving their dogs voices that can read back text messages and issue other short commands to blind people. However, although my dog can read, and perfectly understands SMS messages and other simple text material, at this time she cannot communicate back to me. Sad but (maybe) true.
“I bet she’s the most important person in your life”?
As you might care to observe, she’s not a “person” as such, but a mere dog. My daughter is the most important person in my life, and since her dog is the most important person in her life, following the argument through, her dog is in fact the most important thing – dog or human – in my life. This may seem confusing, but honestly, it makes perfect sense once you think on. I did say daughter, by the way. I know it’s maybe an oddity to your prejudices that a) blind people have sex and b) a quick shag with the milkman feels as good to me as it does anyone else. I had to pay Mr Express Dairy danger money for his services though since he thought he might “catch” blindness from me. He was right in a manner of speaking: I gave him a dose of the syph. He went blind. Ha ha.
“I used to have one of those dogs” or “I used to look after a retired guide dog/guide dog puppy” or “I raised £25,000,000 for those blind dogs once”
So has everyone else I’ve met. Why are there so few dogs around then? Why aren't more guide dogs than ordinary dogs on the street? In fact there should be more guide dogs than humans in the whole world!! The maths just doesn’t work. Oh yes, and think about the moniker you use to define my aid: a “blind dog” is not really useful to a blind person is it?
“Why don’t all blind people have dogs?”
Simply, only really bright blind people get them. A guide dog is a fantastic mobility tool but they cost thousands of pounds to train and need a lot of sighted help in their preparation. Blind people are not worth much to society, but it is agreed by many academics, albeit reluctantly, that even those who are free of sight have their uses. I’m a fully qualified comptometer programmer at the University of East Acton. I fulfil a vital role in the running of the Government’s research project into the settlement and rehousing of Homophobian refugees. You may have noticed that most blind people don’t have guide dogs. You can be assured that these people have a lower IQ than average and are thus, in the words of Bill and Ted “NOT WORTHY”. Please pity them, and give them any small change you have, as they will be in desperate financial need not having a job nor a cute little dog as a people-magnet.
“How can I raise money for Guide Dogs”?
As a trusted user, I am a therefore an agent for the UK Guide Dogs organisation. If you wish to give direct, then any money you pass to me will be paid straight into Guide Dogs’ account. Promise. Larger amounts can be transferred securely via Western Union to the Internet bank account at:
Funraiser419@lagos-bank.ng.com
If you have any further questions about my dog, or me please email me at
Compt_programmer@east-acton.ac.uk
Monday, November 06, 2006
Concrete Zeerust
Zeerust is a Liff word which means “the particular kind of datedness which afflicts things that were originally designed to look futuristic.”
These two concrete structures (which by the way I’m very fond of) are a great pictorial definition of this
Firstly we have the concrete lampposts of Hainault. These were obviously a 40s or 50s design. The modern pink bulbs on them are totally out of character. I remember when the fittings were of the standard tungsten type used in houses, giving out a sickly yellow light, and though the station is about 12 miles from Central London, these did, until the new fittings were added, give it an oddly rural feel – a lot of the outer stretches of the Underground felt rather countrified until maybe 10 years ago. The only rural –feeling section I can think of now is the Central Line’s Woodford-Hainault shuttle. The stations haven’t been modified that much since the late 19th century I’d guess (the underground came here in 1957 but the stations are much older) Those concrete posts shout at me “white heat of technology” (can a phrase be an example of Zeerust?) and yet like tower blocks and other concrete structures, they are unsuited to the British climate and have discoloured nicely. Long may they remain in their pre-cast, browning glory.
Another wonderful bit of concrete nonsense is the canopy at Newbury Park station. What inspired this overblown bus shelter is beyond me, though I know in the 40s and 50s you could take a number 30 bus to Putney from here (Putney is 20 miles south west of here). Thus I would assume it was a much busier place. Its not even used properly since all westbound buses go straight along Eastern Avenue. Only three local bus routes use it now. The structure looks wonderfully modernistic, but how pointless it has become– a folly dedicated to public transport if ever there was one and hence all the more reason to like it.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Too fat to fight
According to the Grauniad, two thirds of all UK teenagers are too fat to join the military.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/military/story/0,,1938440,00.html
Kiddies, a message from the dukc.
Keep eating.
Eat until you burst.
Not only will you enjoy the experience of shovelling huge quantities of blubber making goodness down your throats, but you'll also be prevented from whoring yourselves as cannon fodder later, in order to fight illegal, immoral wars. Not all wars are, of course, illegal or immoral. Its just that this government can't decide which ones are which. So until they can get their silly little heads around the idea of whether there not there are WMDs, huge amounts of oil etc to fight for (or against) its down to you to make sure that the only armed forces we have are a lean and fit bunch. So its your responsbility to make sure this pool of is an ever-diminishing one.
Eat and save your skin. You're worth it. And if you have to fight, stay safe. Remember, we should be heading towards a state of rationality. A French philosopher once wrote: "a rational army would see the opposition and run away". So prove to the world that you are not only able to eat more than men of old, but you have moved on to a new level of collective brain evolution demonstrated by your rationality.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/military/story/0,,1938440,00.html
Kiddies, a message from the dukc.
Keep eating.
Eat until you burst.
Not only will you enjoy the experience of shovelling huge quantities of blubber making goodness down your throats, but you'll also be prevented from whoring yourselves as cannon fodder later, in order to fight illegal, immoral wars. Not all wars are, of course, illegal or immoral. Its just that this government can't decide which ones are which. So until they can get their silly little heads around the idea of whether there not there are WMDs, huge amounts of oil etc to fight for (or against) its down to you to make sure that the only armed forces we have are a lean and fit bunch. So its your responsbility to make sure this pool of is an ever-diminishing one.
Eat and save your skin. You're worth it. And if you have to fight, stay safe. Remember, we should be heading towards a state of rationality. A French philosopher once wrote: "a rational army would see the opposition and run away". So prove to the world that you are not only able to eat more than men of old, but you have moved on to a new level of collective brain evolution demonstrated by your rationality.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
The sea on C2C. Two news stories
Instruction to self; thou shalt not jump on train while parked at platform without first checking that the train is calling at where you want to gp tp. I ended up at the seaside last night because I didn’t. (Well, I know Benfleet is probably not quite “the seaside” but it is close enough to Leigh-on-Sea).
Two headlines in the papers, which grabbed my attention this morning.
1. The UK is the most surveyed society in the world. There are 4.2m CCTV cameras, both publicly and privately owned. That’s one for every 14 people.
2. British teenagers have the most fights, drink the most, and have the largest amount of unsafe sex in Europe.
Which leads to the conclusion: this government doesn’t trust us very much. And that if you treat people like stupid kids, rather than citizens, they’ll act like stupid kids. Even stupid kids take stupid kidism to new heights. Self-fulfilling prophecy, dahling.
Another pertinent point. More cameras, badder teenagers. Well that really works then.
Two headlines in the papers, which grabbed my attention this morning.
1. The UK is the most surveyed society in the world. There are 4.2m CCTV cameras, both publicly and privately owned. That’s one for every 14 people.
2. British teenagers have the most fights, drink the most, and have the largest amount of unsafe sex in Europe.
Which leads to the conclusion: this government doesn’t trust us very much. And that if you treat people like stupid kids, rather than citizens, they’ll act like stupid kids. Even stupid kids take stupid kidism to new heights. Self-fulfilling prophecy, dahling.
Another pertinent point. More cameras, badder teenagers. Well that really works then.
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