How to stop the hiccups after copious cocktails in London

London. You can’t beat it for a jolly good night out can you?

Well, yes, I expect NY is pretty amazing too, and Paris can’t be bad, I imagine that Sydney is a reasonable night out too, Rome? Fantastic!…But LONDON?

Lovely, Lovely London.

This place is in London

I bloody love a little trip into Town. I spent 15 years of my life commuting into town and as much as I hated the travelling, I loved being part of the capital. I still travel in on a monthly basis to see friends and London still takes up a huge space in my head which could, frankly, be taken up with algebra or something.

So! It was our meet up night and Sarah had stumbled upon a fabulous place that served cocktails in teacups. I’m not sure why this appealed to me so much.

Jilly Cooperism? – Did I feel like I was suddenly one of those glamourous, yet untidy women, who glug champagne from a chipped mug while failing to pluck my eyebrows and bush but managing to bag the super misogynistic bastard?

Was it rampant alcoholism? – Look. I like a glass of wine as much as the next person. So what if I like to make special winey-eggy-bread for breakfast? AND?

Ah. But not only did this little bar serve cocktails in teacups, but there was a whole range of vessels for the drinks.

Check out the BISCUITS

That right there is not a couple of cups of tea and a coffee. That is two cups of alcohol and a cup of different alcohol…in a cup. OH YEAH.

Jam Jars and enamelled cups and Vicky..oh my

That’s a round of Jam Jar Margherita and some raspberry gin thing and something boring in a glass..

And we pretty much carried on in this vein for quite some time…

Jam Jars again...DAMN! them jam jars were Goooood

So we drank a few, and laughed a lot, and ignored the couple next to us who were clearly trying to melt into each other. We decided that this place was OUR place and that meant that we weren’t going to mention to anyone at all ever and just go there ourselves.

Prohibition Chic

As we moved on to the restaurant, Vicky was struck with the hiccups.

It’s a renowned problem after drinking a bundle couple of cocktails and once we arrived at the restaurant I gave her my Patented Stop The Hiccup Top Tips.

1) Play a glass banjo

Luckily there was a glass banjo to hand

This failed.

2) Stick your fingers in your ears, and plug your nose with some fingers and also drink something.

I realise that this shit sounds complicated but, honestly?, the effort shown was pathetic:

Seriously?

THIS is how you do the nose/ear/drink hiccup cure:

See?

*shakes head*

You Might Look Mental...but It CURES those hiccups

And it did. So *arms crossed* Yeah! I am the actual BOSS.

I was feeling like a winner and we had some coffee and air kissed each other, although I think I might have used my tongue,  goodbye and then I went and caught the second to last train home.

As I plugged my earphones into my iphone to listen to a little bit of Paul Simon something, I felt all warm inside and happy and also a little bit proud that I hadn’t stayed out till three in the morning.

The train trundled along until three stops before my own. Suddenly, we ground to a shuddering halt.

And we sat there…

And sat there…

And sat there…

It was a Tuesday. I was starting to feel a little bit pissed off that I had made an effort to get the 11.00 train and now I’d been sat on the train for 30 minutes when I could have been drinking Ouzo in a Greek restaurant, or espresso in an Italian or  having a glass of wine in a pub in Covent Garden.

The train driver announced “Hello everyone, [bit friendly?] we’ve had to stop because someone has thrown a wheely bin onto the track”

I thought we were fucked to be honest. Our bin collections are now twice fortnightly.

badum-tish

So we waited another hour. I was so bored I took a photo of my bag

Check It.

Another hour passed. My i-phone lost all battery.

I moved over to a group of empty seats that I could crash on. I took a photo of the ceiling of the train

Are you bored by this? Try staring at it for two hours and then come complain to me.

The train finally started stuttering towards the station.

As we rolled into the station, the POLICEMEN started herding us from the train onto buses. It was truly kafkaesque.

I got home at two in the morning. Every single cup of cocktail had disappeared into HATE and every smile had turned to BILE.

I think there’s a metaphor in this story somewhere, but, if it makes London sound shitty?

I will deny every single word.

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Posted on 07/10/2011, in General Bumpf, Good Times and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. Nice collection of pictures.

  2. All that trouble to go out..have a few tasty adult beverages….only to get home stone cold sober…damn

  3. love it. And it confirmed my suspicion that I NEED to go to London again.

  4. I await your Wine-infused Eggy Bread with interest (and faint repulsion but I would try it anyway)…

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