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Cafe de Paris… AGAIN

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In what’s becoming a weekly thing at the moment, I visited Caf? de Paris in Leicester Square with Nick last Friday. It was my friend Tony’s 25th birthday, and he’d booked the place for his frankly debauched party. We popped up at 8pm for a few drinks in Leicester Square, and mindful of the impending Rugby World Cup final the following morning, we attempted to moderate our drinks.
We failed. After 4 rounds in under 30 mins, we met Tony outside Caf? at 10pm, and entered the wonderful place.
For those whose lives haven’t been blessed with a visit to Caf? de Paris, save up and go. It’s a VERY cool place, which is a restaurant/meeting place during the day, and a nightclub at night. But the word “nightclub” conjures up sweaty teenagers bouncing away, drunken fools leering and throwing up in corners, and loud, loud music – not a bad thing for a standard night, you may think, but a trip to Cafe de Paris is not a standard night. Caf? has none of these nightclubish things, and is aiding my transition from Drunken Fool to Mature Man About Town considerably.
So anyway, back to the fun. We entered the nightclub, sat down on the “left mezzanine” (I don’t get that down my local club…) in the leather sofas, overlooking the dancefloor below. After Tony glad-handed seemingly the entire staff, we were swiftly furnished with 1 bottle of vodka, 6 red bulls, several jugs of coca-cola, cranberry juice and orange juice, an ice bucket and 6 glasses. We tucked in. And when the vodka had finished, another appeared. My wallet was similarly untouched for the rest of the night. Nick was wide-eyed in astonishment…
At this point, I’d like to thank Tony for a night of fun and frolics. He’s plainly a consummate party host, and everything was perfect. Thanks Tony!
Soon, a brief boogie on the dancefloor beckoned, and then back for more free drinks. Several old school friends were there, and we swopped stories endlessly until the early hours. It was, as you can imagine, a very good night, and Nick and I finally left at around 2.30am, worried that any more punishment would render ourselves unable to fully support England on their inevitable victory. We were astonished to find an open Burger King, and rushed in to find a Big Mac. After being approached by a man claiming to have been stabbed in the groin, we decided enough was enough. We spied a large black man standing next to an enormous Mercedes, and ordered a ride to Woking. “?50, very reasonable price, no better anywhere” he repeated over and over again, and, agreeing, we boarded the vast car.
We arrived at Woking at around 3.30am, walking the last half a mile after an argument with the disgruntled, tax- and authority-avoiding driver, and then slept. And slept.
But only for 4 hours; rugby beckoned.

Engladn Win Rugby World Cup

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You beauties! After 90 minutes of agony, at several points rueing the very large night out at Cafe de Paris last night, I watched England win the Rugby World Cup from Australia (with no help from the referee…), the first time England have won one since 1966. And with a try by Jason Robinson and a last minute drop goal by Jonny Wilkinson, now lets see the Aussies call us boring
I’d been on Betfair and bet ?10 on England winning, and ?5 on Wilkinson scoring more than his opposite half. So I happily went along to Betfair to gloat at my winnings, and was shocked to discover they amusingly describe the bets as only on the first 80 minutes, when England were drawing and Jonny was equal on points. BLOODY HELL…

Incognito, a farmwarming, and sleep.

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The late posting of weekend antics is more or less because I’ve only just recovered. Simon B rang with free tickets to see Incognito in concert in London, and off we went. After surprisingly managing to follow Simon’s vague directions (“we’ll meet at the Embankment North. I’ll wave.”),

flyer.jpg

we found Tony Ho at the entrance to The Forum in Kentish Town.
Average White Band were first on, warming us up for Incognito, who were unfeasibly good (gig pictures here). We bopped away until 1am, and grabbed a taxi to Caf? de Paris, where we partied until 4am. I was bushed.
Up at 9am for the World Cup Rugby, a quick shopping trip where I managed to buy absolutely nothing, and then off to Jac’s farmhouse in Watford for a “farmwarming” party, complete with silly hats. A small turnout hampered the party atmosphere (“this is less a party, more an exclusive gathering” Jac announced woefully) and the party was cancelled in favour of a night on the tiles. And a very good night it was – here are the pictures.
8 hours sleep in 2 1/2 days. Not a good plan.

Trophies

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The FA Cup is technically a mug, and the World Cup should be referred to as a vase.
Discuss.

World Cup sick day 1

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Best excuse for a World Cup-induced day off work so far in the office (and it’s only 8am…): “I fell over while cycling home drunk last night and gashed my knee. I’m afraid I can’t possibly come in.” I sensed the last sentence was a little sarcastic.

Simon H World Cup hotel

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World Cup Fever is among us, and Simon H is no exception. He booked into a hotel last night, and this morning all he had to do was wander downstairs, grab a beer and sit down in front of the TV screen.
Incredible.