millionreasons | Barbecue blues

Yesterday, we went to a Bank Holiday-cum-Birthday barbecue in Forest Gate. Upon learning that the house two doors down was empty, I decided that my dream was to live in E7 and raise a cat. By four o'clock, it was raining (it is bank holiday after all), and so the BBQ became a grill-less party with free flowing rum and ginger beers and curry flavoured popcorn. I tried to invite myself to a joint stag night that neither of the grooms wanted to have. A five year old punched me on the bum and I was tempted to say: "You'll have to buy me dinner first", but considered that Alphabites, spaghetti hoops and a Nesquik probably aren't the way to my heart. I had to apologise for throwing shade on Wenlock and Mandeville. I met an Italian who not only liked curry, but said that he didn't mind the English weather. If you've ever met an Italian in England, you will know that this is highly unusual. By 10.30 p.m. we'd been there for 8 hours, so it felt like time to go before the alcohol from the back of the cupboard (Limoncello, Ouzo, that weird herb liqueur that someone's always got) came out, and so we got the Overground and then walked from South Tottenham back home, stopping in Grodzinski's on Stamford Hill for eclairs and post-Shabbat atmosphere. It was better than a kebab.