The one with all the buses

Our Friday was a relatively quiet one (by my standards) so I will move straight on to the Saturday. Waking up on Sat morning the girl and I headed to the Larrick fairly early to get a good possie for the rugby. Unfortunately the rest of the punters (mainly kiwi’s) arrived before us so we were confined to the back of the pub but at least we got some comfy couch seats. Considering the time of morning and my belief that beers are an after midday type of beverage I started on the ciders.

I (like most Australians) was extremely happy with the result. It is good to see a coach finally get the best out of the Wallabies however unfortunate it is a Kiwi doing so. I also find it amusing after 2 losses in a row the “NZ rugby is in crisis!” headlines are out.

After the rugby the girl headed off to a friends BBQ and I headed back to Wimbledon. I met my Cousin and CM at the Dragon (what our local pub has changed its name too) for a couple of quiet beverages in the beer garden. From there I headed to Sth Wimbledon station to pick up Hols and K who were visiting me from Aus. They had just been through China, Mongolia and Russia and were very keen to hit it hard in an English speaking country (which I was happy to oblige). After dumping their gear we headed back to the Dragon for a catch up and to prep ourselves for the rest of the day. We sat outside so that Hols could see the double decker buses going past – apparently this is rather a novelty for people that haven’t seen them before. It was rather amusing to see someone get so much joy out of spotting them – until after about 20 minutes when at least 15 buses had gone by.

One of our other friends was in Kings Cross so we had to trek ourselves to Nth London. Jumping on the tube the girls couldn’t contain their laughter about heading through ‘Tooting’. I mentioned they should try and come to grips with it as over the next couple of days they would be hearing some much funnier stations.

Arriving at St Pancreas station we decided on a nice restaurant for some chow. We sat at one with I nice big window onto the street so Hols could continue to spot her buses. She was concentrating pretty hard on her task that by the time the waiter came to take our order she had no idea what she was getting and sent him away. The waiter frustratingly departed and we half joked that her meal would be receiving some massive loogies mixed in, but knowing it would probably be all of our meals receiving them.

After our meal it was apparent that our friend Maggs had come to the wrong bar so we had to trapes across town to Bricklane. Realising that the night was slipping away from us we jumped into a taxi which fulfilled one of K’s requests – sitting on the backwards seat of a black cab. Hols continued to spot her buses on the journey “there’s one, there’s one…… ooooh there’s another one!”
“No Hols that’s the same one!”

Alas we arrived in Bricklane and found the bar we were looking for. After a number of beverages later it was brought to my attention that the last tube was imminent. My sensible gene kicked in so we downed our drinks and made a beeline for the tube. Outside the station Hols jaw nearly hit the pavement when she saw close to 20 buses lined up. I had to grab her arm to continue on and make the tube.

While we were on the tube the discussion turned towards a bar in Clapham that some other friends were at - my sensible thoughts began to vanish and upon hearing the word Bierodrome (Belgo’s bar) my fate was sealed. So we alighted at Clapham and headed to the bar. Hols was now further impressed that the buses ran well into the night so her spirits were running high.

We entered the bar and tried a few standard Belgian beers before moving on to the Frulli. Frulli is a strawberry beer, that because of colour and name I don’t usually drink but unfortunately after a few regular beers (or many in my case) it tastes exceptionally good. After a couple of these the girls went to the bar and discovered the paddles. The paddles are a plank of wood with holes cut out for shot glasses filled with different types of Vodka. I cannot accurately remember what size paddle was purchased but the smallest is a 12 shot and I have the feeling I took the brunt of them.

I am told we left about half 3 to head home. I vaguely remember introducing the girls to the drunk mans best friend - the 99p mini fillet from the Colonel. As we walked I was in 2 minds whether or not to grab a taxi or the bus home, when I figured I should introduce the girls to one of the lesser known London icons – the minicab.

I walked up to one of the dodgy looking people loitering to the side of the road and heard the little “minicab?” whisper they use to get attention. (For those that don’t know they are not allowed to solicit business that is not from a phone call or call in to minicab shop. They use the whisper method at late nights to drum up some quicker business. This leads to anyone with a car with nothing to do on a Fri/Sat to head out and earn some cash. The fare is negotiated before you leave and is usually cheaper than a black cab).

After the driver got my attention he must have been surprised when I told him (without negotiation) he was taking us to Wimbledon via Tooting for a tenner and jumped into his car. The girls followed suit and the driver must have been cursing himself for not locking his car doors as a direct minicab from Clapham to Wimbles is usually £15 on its own. Never the less we were on our way to the sound of “Oooh there’s one, look another one….”
So we got home without any drama’s and hit the hay in order for some sleep before a day of sightseeing.