Friday night, Saturday morning

Last Friday, I saw a whole host of friends in London, starting at Lynnie's place with the return of the Greek (Mark) in Bethnal Green and then we moseyed on down to Brick Lane for a dinner. accosted by various street restauranteurs and entrepreneurs, we settled on one that was near a place somebody knew. Mel put one of them straight when we said "Could you go away please? We need time to think." A thorough curry followed. One amusing point was when Lynnie's friend Clare fell off her chair by sitting too close to the edge of it. Lucky she didn't pull the tablecloth with her. Tom resorted to breaking his police code of conduct at the end. I was shocked and appalled, but might have partaken in what disappeared behind the backs of the staff had the brand not been so odious. We made our way onto a moderate nightclub, which didn't have great music, but did have patio heaters (which in terms of carbon footprint is, I guess, bad, but it did allow us to talk at normal levels). I had never set eyes knowingly on a patio heater before, believing them to be underground heating systems beneath the patio. We left when the brisk chill could no longer be tolerated.
I slept over at Lynnie's. When I awoke at 7.50am, I had an accident in the washroom. As I bent down to sup some water from the taps, in the semi-dark I headbutted the transparent shelf directly above the taps. It could have been worse than a dent on my forehead and a chip off the shelf, since the protrusion was made of glass. Suffice to say I was quite woken up after that. I rolled up my sleeping bag, took my rucksack and food supplies and was out the house by 8.10am, everyone else firmly under covers.