Bloody Brilliant!

50 is the new 15

Yesterday was a big day for birthdays.  My friend Heather Cochran Allen turned 39 [I think], my friend Christina turned 35 [I think], and my darling husband turned 50 [this I know]. 

I love love love these shoes that little kids wore in the fifties and sixties. 

On Friday night, some of Peter's friends recreated the pub crawl they organized for his 40th, oh so many years ago.  Here they are in all their glory - Dave, Tom, birthday boy, Neil and Richard:

On Saturday, Peter's boys took him fishing and let him win the contest - he caught more than both of them combined. Then we ended up in St. Ives, where Peter grew up and where his brother Steven lives. We presented him with a cake we bought at Tesco - the British equivalent of Wal-Mart. While it certainly wasn't fancy, I've never seen one like it before. They scanned a photo of Peter when he was a little, scruffy schoolkid onto sugar paper and then affix the paper to the top of a cake. It's kinda cool, in a cheesy way.

Here are the Hase men - Andy, Peter and Steven - yukking it up.   

That was before we got the bill for the evening.  And I've been paying the price all day today - I've learned the hard way that I can no longer tolerate alcohol.  Although I keep trying, it's clear that I'll never, ever be able to drink like a Brit. 

Happy birthday babe. 

we're not in kansas anymore

The other night Peter and I were wandering around The City - the equivalent, more or less, of NYC's Financial District.  We ended up near Spitalfields Market, a big covered market that sells all kinds of produce.  The area itself is where Jack the Ripper did some of his best work.  I can't figure out if it's nice or trashy, since some streets had really beautiful, expensive homes on them and other streets directly opposite looked like total shitholes.   

Peter used to work in the area, and we stopped by one of his favorite pubs.  I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that the woman who owns the pub spotted him right away and treated him like the prodigal son she never had. 

We were starving, so she recommended a restaurant just down the street.  I didn't have high hopes because I was in the mood for a fun, trendy place and I didn't see anything remotely fun or trendy.  

Thankfully, I was wrong.  We ended up having a great time in an awesome restaurant called St. John Bread and Wine, two doors down.

The interior was really spare yet somehow cozy. If they saw this horrible photograph that I took with my 0 megapixel phone camera, I'm sure they'd cringe in horror.

   

The fact that I considered my meal tasty is a testament to the chef, because I am a picky eater and I hate anything gamey or even mildly exotic.  I really want to be, and should be, a vegetarian but my bloodlust for filet mignon rules that out.  You'll understand, then, why I took one look at this menu that I smuggled out [and carefully shoved in my purse] and resigned myself to the breadsticks.  Peter, on the other hand, was drooling like a big drooling thing over every single choice:

Jellied pig's head?  Calf's brain?  Smoked eel? Ox heart?  Lamb tongues???????  What kind of sadistic animal killers are these people???  And who are the depraved freaks who eat this?

My husband, for one.

Since I didn't want to get thrown out and I was really loving the wine, I decided to keep my animal-rights views to myself.  I did manage to find a dish of chickpeas, courgettes and creme fraiche that was so damn good - that with a dish of olives and another dish off the specials menu set me up quite nicely. 

Meanwhile, Peter was frothing at the mouth. 

We had the best dessert called a Summer Berry Jelly, which sounds like Jello gone bad, but it was intensely flavored and served with the most incredible handmade whipped cream ever.  I finished the meal with a slab of outrageous blue cheese and was one very happy girl.

Turns out the place is a big hip artist hangout, too - so I was trendy without even knowing it. 

norma rocks

I met John Major the other night.  John Major, as in former Prime Minister of England, as in Sir John Major. What an extremely wild experience it was to meet someone so important and famous.  I mean, this guy is a Knight of the Garter  [no, he doesn't have a stocking fetish - it's yet another English designation bestowed by Queen Liz.  I bet she's the one with the fetish].

Peter and I went to a political fundraiser where Sir John - as he's called - was the keynote speaker.  He was doing the polite thing and shaking everyone's hand, which is how I met him and his beautiful wife Norma.  I was quite surprised by how young they both looked.  Don't ask me why but I sort of expected them to be decrepit creatures shuffling along.  He's actually a very good looking man, although this picture certainly doesn't support my case.  He's also incredibly smart and well-spoken - everything our own fearless leader, George W., is not.

The best part was talking to Sir John's wife Norma.  She is also very good-looking, classy and genuinely sweet.  She and I chatted for a good 10 minutes - I swear, I gave her ample opportunity to make a graceful exit, but she actually stuck around!  Not only has this woman hung out with the Queen, she's met the most famous and influential people in the world.  Call me starstruck, but that completely blows my mind.

And here she is, asking me where I'm from, what I do for a living, how I like living in England... and I was asking her about her family and if attending these functions bored the pants off of her [I actually asked her that. Turns out they do].  Peter is in the background, shitting himself with worry that I'm going to say something inappropriate, since the Majors have some messy family history in the way of John Major's affair some 15 years ago and their son's tabloid marriage and divorce from some cheesy nude model [see lovely photo].  As neither of these was reported in US Weekly, I wasn't aware of them and thankfully said nothing too embarrassing. 

So Norma moved on, Peter composed himself and I remained totally starstruck.  It's not every day you get to meet a Prime Minister, and a Sir at that.  How very British, and how totally cool.

three cheers

I'm in the US, breathing in the New York air, wandering around the Stationery Show and loving every minute.   It's been a bit manic, I must say, which is why I've been absent from Bloody Brilliant lately.  Rich, I promise I'll give you a call tomorrow!

I saw some really great old friends last week for a bridal shower-y drink fest and it was really the best!  Here are some highlights of the US evening:

No, they aren't the best photos ever, but I wasn't so great with the camera that night. I promise, I'll do better next time...

A Native Speaks ... and Breathes

Bloody Brilliant! is honored to feature a guest author and native Brit, Peter [read: I made him do it since I'm on a business trip this week].

Clear The Air

I lived in New York [where I met our blog host] for about a year and must say how much I enjoyed the way bars and restaurants are smoke-free. 

As you may know, the UK is part of the European Union, which means that although we still have our own currency, legal system and exchanges, we do have to comply with EU guidelines.  These cover such vital and pressing issues as the maximum curve allowed on a banana to the length of a pork sausage.

The EU also champions human rights, including the right to poison and pollute ourselves.  Much of Europe still smokes heavily and the continued rise of new, young smokers is a huge worry.

But the smoke is about to clear.  In July 2007, the UK will become a smoke-free zone and I am very hopeful that my enjoyment of our lovely pubs will be even further enhanced, since I will actually be able to breathe.  Here in the UK we will once again strike out in defiance of those other parts of Europe. As the bloody French say, Vivre la différence!