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And so the party season draws to a close. Monday night, dinner with the ladies. Today, an afternoon off for the team lunch.

So, Monday night. We started off at Alphabet Bar, as we always do, but after a quick skirt around the periphery it was clear we weren’t going to get to sit down any time soon. We ended up at Revolution to do the whole cards and lucky-dip present thing.

We’d been useless on the planning front, so hadn’t even thought about where we wanted to eat, except for the fact that with a mixture of no Chinese, no Thai and no pizza between us we’d pretty much ruled out every restaurant in Soho. That left Tomato on Frith Street for yummy pasta and, for those who eat it, very rare beef.

We built model planes while we waited for the food, and dripped olive oil onto our clothes from the olives and bread, but while the portions were perhaps a little on the poky side it certainly deserves the five-star review I found far too late to make a difference.

Today, though, was the last party of the season. We downed tools just before lunch and walked down to Soho Spice, which has dropped its lurid silks and switched to a far more sober brown throughout. Service was very VERY slow, but the food was excellent, and I guess you could let them off a tardy turn-around when there’s that many people.

Things moved a lot quicker when we moved on to Revolution (there’s a theme developing here) and the vodka Russian roulette began. They do vodka sticks - short planks with holes drilled in them to take shot glasses, with each shot a different flavour. I was lucky. My first was Turkish delight, then rhubarb and custard, and an apple one. Julian got the chilli one, with predictable results.

Julian samples the chilli vodka

After that he didn’t notice as Kenny and Keith gradually slipped more and more sugar into his beer, or Chris and I nabbed his mobile and started texting ‘I’ve just had some great cock’ to various numbers in his address book.

Paul T

I don’t know when everyone drifted off, but by about eight, after PC Pro had joined us, there was just me, Tim, Paul T, Jemma and Clive. Revolution was filling up. Fox Kids (who were clearly neither kids nor foxes) had commandeered out table, so we went to Alphabet Bar. Tim walked into a lamp-post outside Mildreds at just about the only time the camera was back in my pocket. I asked him if he’d re-stage it for a picture, but for some reason he wasn’t so keen. He also swore me to absolute secrecy, so apart from telling everyone in the pub I’ll make sure nobody else finds out about it.

Tim guarded the chips

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 21st, 2004 at 11:05 pm and is filed under Journal, Picture story, Work. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.