sharplittleteeth: (Default)
THE BEGINNING: POLLY

The evening began with [livejournal.com profile] morgan303's drinks at Polly. Charming companions, exotic cocktails, naked Pre-Raphaelite nymphs peering saucily down on us... is there a better way to start an evening?

I was particularly keen to sample Polly's selection of premium absinthes. I started with the Jade Edouard, a very smooth, gentle absinthe, a strong aniseed flavour of course, but with a soft herbal aftertaste.

Later I tried the Obsello, which had a rich mint smell and taste to it. Very pleasant. I preferred it the Edouard, actually.

(Polly prepare your absinthes at your table, bringing the absinthe fountain over to you. Then the poor waiter stands around awkwardly waiting for the drops of water to dissolve your sugar cube and keeping a watchful eye on the fountain, because apparently someone tried to sneak off with one. Not very gentlemanly behaviour.)

Next time I think I'll try the Blanche de Fougerolles and the Eichelberger Limitée.


THE MIDDLE: MR. McCLELLAND'S FINISHING SCHOOL

Suitably liquored up, we made our way to the Bella Union for Mr McClelland's Finishing School. Lots of indie pop, Motown. Jackson 5 and Dave Callan doing the Thriller dance on stage (much to the distress of one of the bouncers, who had to be asked nicely not to drag Dave off).

A lot of fun. Danced myself silly. It wasn't really my sort of music, and if indulged in too often the joy would start to wear thin. But there was fun. Lots of it, in fact.

It doesn't hurts to occasionally cut loose . *nods*


THE END: GETTING HOME

Ah. The Not Fun bit of the evening.

I had thought getting home from Trades Hall would be easy. Catch a taxi as they come back in along Lygon Street, zip down Victoria Street, done.

I hadn't counted on the rain.

There were no free taxis. None. I suspect the moment one became free it was pounced on by thirteen different desperate and rain-bedraggled revelers.

We tried waiting out the front of Trades Hall. Nothing. We tried going down to Swanston Street. Nothing. We trudged into the city centre. The heel of Jel's boot started to come off. Lots of very wet people, not a single free taxi in sight

By sheer coincidence, we reached the City Square just as the Nightrider buses were pulling in. We worked out that one of them went down Bridge Road and Church Street, and so we quickly decided it was better to walk home from Church Street than to wait like Vladimir and Estragon for a cab.

All in all, it took an hour and a half from us leaving the Bella Union to us walking in our front door.


CONSEQUENCES:

Very tired this morning. So I was bit slack this morning, and only made it to one hour of karate.


Golgotha

Apr. 25th, 2007 11:11 am
sharplittleteeth: (Default)
I was looking forward to Golgotha. I was in the mood to go out and get my dance on. Ideally to some of the new Nine Inch Nails. I even bought a sexy new tie.

Unfortunately, the club was fizzer.

More precisely: the sound system went fzzt.

Not the club organisers' fault. But it did rather kill the mood. Eventually they herded everyone upstairs, which was much smaller, and poorly lit, and while the PA at least worked, it wasn't exactly pumping. So I spent the rest of the night chatting to people in the downstairs bar.

And I tried some Green Fairy Absinth.

Note the missing 'e'. This is Czech stuff. The radioactive green colour is the giveaway. I sipped some neat, and my mouth exploded with menthol. No aniseed or complex herbs here. That said, I was expecting it to go down like paint stripper, and  it turned out to be actually quite smooth.

Just for laughs, I tried mixing it with water. No louche, unsurprisingly. The overpowering menthol flavour dilluted down to something more tolerable, but the whole drink developed an unpleasant oily texture.

What can I say? It's Czech absinth. It's a completely different drink to the one sipped by bohemian artists in fin de si├Ęcle Paris. It's designed to be set fire to and skolled, a sort of jaegerbomb with wormwood. All that stuff about green fairies and poetic inspiration is just marketing.

Gets you drunk, though.

Oh boy does it get you drunk.

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July 2014

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