Tag Archives: Nora

Go On, Say It…

Posted on February 27, 2012 | 7 Comments

Yes, well, turns out you all know me far too well…

Of course the Iron Knickers didn’t work. I mean, have you seen this guy? Okay, so you haven’t, but you have to believe me when I say he’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever known in real life. And on Friday night he was playing the bass*. My resolve didn’t stand an effing chance.

So here’s what happened; Nora and I toddled off to the gig – she looked very cool and like she belonged, I, as per usual, looked like Hair the Musical had thrown up on a corporate whore – and thankfully they had already started when we arrived. We sat down (Nora with a root beer, me with a very generous double vodka) and picked the world to pieces against the backdrop of super cool jazz tunes.

Every note on that bass sent my ladyplace into spasms, I’m not gonna lie.

He trotted over at the interval (do cool jazz people call them intervals?) and made small talk for 20 minutes or so until he had to go pluck a g-string again.

Nora found the conversation hilarious, especially as I proceeded to die in the corner of an overly large sofa once he’d started playing again.

‘It’s so cute! He’s all nervous around you!’ I could tell she was basically planning our wedding. I fought the urge to slap her.

And then, she LEFT ME.

So what followed is essentially Nora’s fault.

I did actually manage it at first – we talked, and drank, and then I left. And then I got home (conveniently 5 minutes down the road) and realised my keys were not in my pocket. I called him, he found them, he brought them to my house, he came in for coffee, then stayed for wine…

Well I couldn’t have him driving home drunk now, could I?

I did try to have the ‘I don’t think we should sleep together this time’ conversation, but since we were already naked by that point, it was laughed out of the bedroom.

Not gonna lie – it was bloody brilliant as per.

I’m just not sure what happens next.

RitziCx

*Interesting Fact: my college boyfriend played the bass. Bass players have very dextrous fingers. Enough said.

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I’m Sorry… WHAT?

Posted on November 12, 2011 | 14 Comments

So here’s the thing.

I met this guy on the fated dating website that we don’t mention. We messaged back and forth for a few weeks, and eventually swapped numbers with every intention of meeting up.

Texting ensued (nothing dirty – I know you were thinking it) and we began to try and figure a time when we might be able to actually cross paths in the real world. Unfortunately, at that time, I had a show opening and was working stupidly late every night, and whenever it looked like something might be able to work, something came up and it never quite happened.

Then, he disappeared home to America for a month. A month passed, and nothing, so I figured it had pretty much fizzled out.

Then, a few days ago, I got a text out of the blue saying he was back in town at last, and did I fancy getting together for that drink.

Heck, my social calendar is kicking my 50,000 words in a month attempt so bad at the moment, why not? So I suggested Friday.

Please note, I suggested this on Monday.

On Tuesday night, a slight friendship crisis emerged, and Blondie and I both unanimously decided to cancel our Friday plans. Ho’s over Bro’s and what not. So the next morning I texted, nice and early, saying I couldn’t do Friday after all and was Saturday okay.

Saturday was okay. So that was that.

Saturday arrives, and (about half an hour ago) I received the following message:

‘My dad wants to take me out to dinner in London this evening… I’ll be around tomorrow if you can somehow swing it hun x’

I’m sorry… what? How does dinner with your dad constitute cancelling a hot date? Especially a date that is due to take place between 3 and 7.30pm, due to Ritzi’s extremely busy schedule. And you may say (as some on twitter did) that perhaps he rarely sees his dad and maybe that makes it okay… but I have deduced that since returning to the UK he is staying with his parents, so not in any way unfamiliar with their faces.

Therefore, I have been stood up in favour of a MAN DATE with the guy’s father.

In what world can a person not manage to be in town for a couple of hours to meet a girl for a drink before dinner with a parent, on a SATURDAY for crying out loud? Until half an hour ago, my Saturday plans consisted of 4 hours of writing, a trip to East London for work stuffs, a drink with a hot guy at 4pm followed by a quick outfit turnaround in the toilets of my office into a fabulous dress for Nora and my trip to the Prince Charles Cinema’s Labyrinth Masquerade Ball at 8pm.

I replied. Pretty swiftly.

‘Nope. x’

Good call? Or am I being a total diva?

RitziCx

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Ritzi Does Cornwall

Posted on July 14, 2011 | 2 Comments

Guys.

There is a little place in this world, which is so freakin fabulously awesome, that I would genuinely leave London to live there, if only there was some kind of job for me to do there that would keep me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed (ie free coffee, free theatre tickets and press night parties) and that place is… St Ives.

Not that shitty one in Cambridgeshire, mind. The proper one.

Before the world completely explodes, and we head of to New York City to rock the joint, Nora and I decided we needed some serious chill out time, and what better place to go than the seaside? Particularly when children are still at school. Good thinkin.

So here is my guide to the best place in the world. Pay attention:

The beaches

No need for Newquay here. It’s the other side, the water’s not as nice and it’s full of chavs. Instead, you’ve got five amazing beaches to choose from, depending on what you fancy at the time. For example, upon arrival, it was bloody hot, but Nora wasn’t showing up until later with my suitcase so I was lacking in bikini goodness. Instead, I grabbed myself an icecream and headed to Porthminster beach. It’s mainstream, it’s white sands, and it’s right by the train station. Very handy. It does, however, have a very dangerous population of seagulls, so you should not devour your icecream anywhere near those bad boys.

Once I was better prepared, I headed to my FAVOURITE spot, Porthmeor beach. This one is home to the surf school, massive waves, hot lifeguards (one of whom asked for a lick of my icecream, which I may have taken as an invitation in London but in St Ives the correct response is; ‘bugger off and buy your own!’) and some damn good chips. Surfed a bit, tanned A LOT, and generally had a giggle.

St Ives signOther beaches… Porthgwidden, which is little and cute, rather steep, complete with playful seal swimming about in the shallows with some very surprised people. Carbis Bay, further away and technically in Lelant, but the equivalent of a meditteranian wonderland. And the cutest  (not for the beach but for the name) Bamaluz, a teeny tiny bunch of rocks that sometimes has a bit of sand around if the sea goes out far enough. More importantly, it’s on this sign ^^^ which is just hilarious. (Good job I took a picture then, because the next morning it had been corrected. St Ives vandals – I love them).

The food

Cornish Cream Tea at BumblesYou can’t come to Cornwall and not have cream tea. And that’s cream tea that goes scone, jam, clotted cream, not scone, clotted cream, jam like some Devonshire crazy. In my experience, there is NOWHERE better than Bumbles Tea Room (right by Porthmeor at the end of the Digey). This place does cream tea that makes your toes fall off it’s so good, and so long as you don’t linger over the lunchtime rush, they don’t mind weirdo writers like me huddling in the corner on their third pot of tea writing magical stories about mermaids off the coast of Marazion. Awesome.

The other Cornwall staple is – you guessed it – the pasty. Being a veggie, I’m not the ideal market for a pasty seller, but I still reckon I’ve managed to find the best darn place in town. The Yellow Canary Cafe, at the far end of Fore Street near the Marketplace, is THE BEST place, and they’re just bohemian enough to make you feel like you’re somehow eating a cool pasty. Mental.

Always start your day the right way (because after that you’re gonna eat a shitload of carbs and icecream) and head to Frubar smoothie shack on the harbour front. Nora and I love it so much, we genuinely woke up every morning, and declared that it was juice time.

Oddly, there is another magical meal choice… and that is PELS’s crepes. Cue a tonne of hilarious ‘ooh, I think I’ll have a crepe on the beach’ related puns. But after a long day of beaching, surfing, hill climbing and art gallery wandering, a chocolate and banana crepe from PELS on the harbour is considerably more welcome than a bloody good shag.

Alcohol

Gotta be honest, it’s not high on my list of priorities when I head to St Ives, however I defy you to visit without getting sucked into the wonderful Sloop Inn. This place has been standing since the 1300′s, and has a crazy history of smuggling and whatnot, AND they serve things in tankards. After stupidly going on the ‘pirate walk’ one evening (we discovered that St Ives has fuck all in the way of pirate history) and freezing half to death, we warmed our fingers around steaming mugs of hot chocolate and brandy in the Sloop, and it was magic.

The Badger Inn, in Lelant (5 mins down the road) does THE BEST carvery in the world. It also has extremely potent wine.

Where to stay

I will always advise getting out of the busy harbour part, and heading somewhere St Ives sea viewup the hill. Somewhere near the Island is good, or up near Barnoon Hill. Don’t go to far up near the Rugby Club though, or you’ll lose the atmosphere of beingdown one of the tiny streets of the town. This time, I stayed up near Porthmeor and Barnoon carpark (very handy) just behind the Tate St Ives. Would highly recommend getting a little house of your own, so you can totally pretend you live there. Come on, we all do it. And check out the view.

Where else to go

Should you, god forbid, actually get a bit bored of the town, you’re in driving distance of some pretty awesome places. Penzance is 20 minutes away, and the other side of it is Marazion, home to St Michael’s Mount. I would advise visiting and not trying to walk back across the causeway after the tide has come in. Nora and I nearly died.

You’re 40 minutes away from Lands End and Porthcurno – Lands End is dull and overrated, and the carpark is £4, but if you haven’t been, you must. Porthcurno is home to the Minack Theatre, carved into the stone of the cliffside, where I’ve seen some amazing stuff (not this time though – The Death of Sherlock Holmes, shockingly crap).

The Lizard is not far away, and Zennor (where there is a mermaid. Look it up), and if you time it right, you should totally check out the Eden Project on your way out of the West Country, if you’re passing through St Austell.

So there you have it! Ritzi’s guide to the best place in the world. Frankly, if you’ve never been, you’re missing out. Get your ass down there now! Before the kids descend and fuck it all up!

Go on then, maybe just one last pasty…

Last cornish pasty

RitziCx

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Ritzi Goes To Brighton… And Gets A Little Bit Laid

Posted on July 7, 2010 | Leave a comment

So at my birthday dinner last week, Nora called me on the fact that I have never ACTUALLY been to see her amazing band AVENGE VULTURE ATTACK play a gig. This may seem shocking, but to be brutally honest I have not been the sort of person who goes to gigs since I was about mmm… fifteen? When I had bright purple dreadlocks and thought it was a really good idea to draw stars on my face and drink entire bottles of cheap rum.

Nice.

But, considering how many cheesetastic musical’s Nora has sat through for me (as well as the one I wrote that she conveniently starred in rather amazingly many moons ago) I figured I owed her one.

Also, if you remember, I’d text Almost Famous asking if I could use him for a pillow, to which he’d replied ‘Brazen. I’m around. Use me.’

Of course, as fate would have it, 6.30 on Friday rolled round and I was dealing with a MOUNTAIN of super secret casting paperwork and a hysterical producer and didn’t manage to escape until 8pm. I legged it to Charing Cross and finally stumbled (sweaty and gross) onto a train to Brighton at London Bridge at 8.30pm.

Timetable showed an hour to Brighton… Nora’s band was on at 9.

Feck feckedy feck!

I text Nora, begging her to stall, and she managed to sweet talk the next band into playing first and letting them take the 9.30 slot. Then, true to form, she stalled and stalled (I think she peed three times, minimum) until I burst through the door, the sexy beast that is Almost Famous just behind me.

Phew!

By the by, can I take a moment to say how much Avenge Vulture Attack actually do rock. Nora was amazing, as she always is, but I remain amazed and in awe of the staying power of her flimsy tubetop style bra that managed to cover her modesty despite her excessive rocking out. Respect to the bra peeps.

My enthusiasm waned when the next band started and since he knows and has seen every band in the whole of Brighton, Almost Famous joined me for a beer outside on the street. Which I’m not sure is legal… but through double glazing the band didn’t sound half bad.

And do you know what? Despite the lack of success we’ve had in the past in the dating area, AF and I managed a good few hours of idle chit chat before we gave up and wandered back to his house (which, for a house where two 30 something year old rockers live, was pretty clean) and sat down to eat toast (after I realised I hadn’t eaten since breakfast as per usual) and watch Glastonbury on the telly box.

It worries me slightly that I was rather comfortable snuggled up on the sofa with AF, talking about things so insignificant I can’t actually remember them, until we got sleepy and decided to go to bed.

It worries me a lot actually, which is why I’m going to tell you about the sex instead.

Here’s the thing about AF – I just cannot work him out. Despite the fact that I’ve actually used the words ‘lets have sex’ he still seems slightly iffy about whether it’s what I want. To the point that it becomes painfully obvious that he’s not going to make the first move.

So I jumped him.

Now before you get an image in your head of the kind of scrawny Kurt Cobain style rocker with unkempt hair and general greasy appearance, allow me to correct you. AF is mainstream, he ever so slightly commercial and the man is FIT.

Weirdly, I wasn’t that drunk (unusal) which seemed to make it… I don’t know… better? How unsettling. And you know that sweaty, unpleasant feeling you get when you’ve been really full on shagging someone for hours and you wake up the next morning? Wasn’t there. And the snuggly spooning as I drifted to sleep? Not that uncomfortable! And the morning sex that I usually hate…? Enjoyable once I escaped to brush my teeth first. And the unpleasant but necessary swallowing that you have to do from time to time to boost their ego? Didn’t taste that bad!

So essentially, AF and I are perfect for each other. I work all the time, he is always in Europe with his band. He’s tall dark and handsome, gets along with my dad and can play the bass (that means dextrous fingers), lives in Brighton which has a BEACH but works in London quite a bit. We’re great in bed, I get along with his friends, we don’t interfere with each other’s lives… why aren’t we dating again?

Oh yeah, the year of promiscuity… I remember now.

I’m beginning to get a little suspect about all this promiscuous lark and wonder if perhaps it is clouding my vision just a tad so I might be missing more ‘substantial’ opportunities. But then no one can say I’m being less than thorough… try before you buy and whatnot. I don’t know, maybe I should quit the promiscuity for a while and give this thing a go…

…or maybe I should go to Flutey’s cast change party tomorrow night and shag the chap in her cast she intends to pimp me out to for more Ensemble Bingo points. Decisions, decisions…

If you don’t know what I’m going to do, you haven’t been paying much attention to me over the past year.

Til tomorrow’s conquest,

RitziCx

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It’s My Party And I’ll Lie If I Want To…

Posted on June 26, 2010 | Leave a comment

So Sunday evening came around at last, and I celebrated rather mutedly I have to admit, in anticipation of my week of planned relaxation vacating in the countryside. As planned (see, it wasn’t just an excuse to get rid of Movie Man) Sneezy-K and I hopped along to the Common to meet Irish, Nora, Maestro and Flutey for a lovely girly dinner.

Nb, Maestro counts as a girl in these circumstances.

Of course, one thing I hadn’t taken into consideration was the existence of FOOTBALL. For fecks sake, even SOUK was showing football, my previously undiscovered magical Moroccan paradise that I’ve since learned is a chain and I just never noticed. Huh.

At last, we found a place that wasn’t showing football – Strada. Boring, a bit rough around the edges, but damn it they had wine and a table and we had the company! Lets take a little moment for a couple of the presents that came at me by the by…

Nora: a varied selection of Green and Blacks Chocolate bars, tied up in a neat little bow to discourage me from devouring them there and then, and a card that litters the ground with sparkle and other magical things whenever it’s opened. Sorry cleaning lady.

Irish: Cutesy keyring for my new flat (when I finally get it), some other lovely trinkets… and condoms.

Ironically, they will probably get used before the keyring does.

Sometimes, my friends know me so well it scares me.

Anyhoo, most important and crigeworthy was the fact that Flutey was there. We haven’t seen each other for bloody ages, and have hardly even texted for months, what with my job being so crazy and her working evenings with her show, which kind of lead me to forget what great mates we really are.

Oops. Did I sleep with a man she’s a bit in love with last week? Yes, yes I did.

The thing is, she’d probably not be all that surprised if I told her. She knows what I’m like – and she knows what he’s like – and she’s fully aware that I’m not likely to fall in love with the guy since she’s been with me through more than my fair share of heartache over the years, but I just couldn’t bring myself to mention it, especially as it was my birthday dinner and everyone was there so there was hardly an opportune moment.

She later proceeded to demand that I join her in a couple of weeks to see Forbidden’s final show. I think I’m going to be conveniently busy… but that doesn’t mean Forbidden won’t open his big mouth. Yikes.

This is a bit of a dilemma folks, and could be used as a argument against doing what I’m doing at the moment. I’m sure there’s some kind of ‘Ho’s over Bro’s’ analogy that could be reworded to work in this situation.

But all drama aside, with dinner finished and Irish and Nora retiring for the evening because they’re boring (not really – they actually have early rehearsals and flights respectively but whatever) Flutey, Sneezy-K, Maestro and I decide we are not quite finished with our Sunday evening. Instead, we discover that 2 friends of ours (well, friends of mine and Flutey’s) are playing a gig down the road in a bar that serves COCKTAILS.

My mind is made up – to the flute mobile!

A few hours later I had to drag Sneezy away from a rather dishy looking chap who’d just invited her to add him on facebook (I was dragging her away before she garbled drunken gibberish at him too much by the way, it was a kindness. I’m sure she’ll shag him at a later date) and I took my time saying heartfelt goodbyes to the two rock stars (one of which I desperately want to have my way with, especially when he’s singing. Wowzer) before making my escape with Sneezy on one arm and my raffle prizes in the other.

That’s right… cocktails and a raffle! Could this impromptu evening get any better?

Well, I’m glad you asked actually… on the way back I received a text from Almost Famous, who I’d drunkenly texted earlier that evening as I’d just agreed to go and watch Nora’s band play a gig in Brighton next week, where he conveniently lives these days.

‘Are you about on July 2nd?’ (I had texted) ‘Going to watch a gig and wondered if you mind me shamelessly using you as a bed?’

To which I got the reply…

‘Brazen. Yeah I’m around. Use me ;)‘

Maybe I will, Almost Famous… maybe I will.

Til next time,

RitziCx

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I Frickin Love Living In London Sometimes

Posted on March 25, 2010 | Leave a comment

I’m sat in my office, bored. I’m not going to do any work, let’s be honest. I’ve looked at netbooks, and am slightly dubious about paying £25 a month for only 3gb of downloads, hmm…

So I picked up the old blackberry and sent Nora a lil instant message.

‘I don’t suppose you’re in town?’

Seconds later…

‘Yes! Marlybone’ (her spelling, not mine)

‘Want to grab some lunch?’

‘Yey! I’ll just jump on da tube’

‘Rock on, giz a bell when you get here’

And that, my friends, is why I love living in this city. You’re never more than a tube ride away from your favourite people.

RitziCx

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Drag Queens, Cupcakes and Walks In The Rain

Posted on March 24, 2010 | Leave a comment

Howdy folks, how’s everyone doing this sunny afternoon?

I am feeling so much love for the free cupcake I got yesterday that I decided to basically flaunt it to you lot. The story is actually quite cringe worthy as well.

So, I’m in my office about to wrap things up for the day, when I get a phonecall from an office minion excitedly gabbling;

‘Oh my god you have to get to Priscilla NOW. They are giving out free cupcakes!’

That was enough for me! My friend and I shut down our computers and stuffed everything nearby into our bags, and scrambled out of that office as fast as our well dressed feet could manage. We unashamedly LEGGED IT up the road to the Palace, where lo and behold, there was a Drag Queen giving out pink sparkly cupcakes. It’s their one year anniversary or something… whatever. Cupcake!

The unfortunate thing was that as I fought my way through the crowds (who weren’t all that fussed) to snatch up my prize, and expressed my excitement verbally, I realised there was a camera in my face.

Oh good lord, what the heck were you filming that for Priscilla??? And more importantly… who is going to see it? Should I just move to Timbuktu now?

Coming soon to a youtube clip near you. Here’s a picture of the cake to shut you up… oh yeah… it was free.

cupcake

On top of that I just re-read my ancient ‘new years resolutions’ blog post and realised that I’m becoming a bit slack. I have successfully given up starbucks. I have been shagging around, got that one covered. I haven’t cooked something new for a couple of weeks, *slaps wrist*. Definitely going to get on that this weekend.

Nora and I enjoyed an amazing countryside walk a couple of weekends ago on Mother’s Day, but other than that my ‘talking walks for the sake of it’ resolution has failed epically as well. As a result, before the flatmate and I go and watch Hairspray tonight (it’s the last week – we kind of have to, sigh) we are going to go and walk around London a bit, in the parts we don’t go to that often. I’m thinking maybe St James park, somewhere not tooooooo far away from town. We’ll only have 2 hours to kill. If it rains… so be it! We shall dance in the rain.

Enjoy the sunshine folks! And take walks and eat cupcakes… they’re nice.

RitziCx

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Mother’s Day Comes Early In Ritzi’s World

Posted on March 13, 2010 | Leave a comment

Hello all! Managed to sneak away from the family types long enough to get onto the computer (note to self: must erase history lest my nearest and dearest’s wholesome opinion of me be destroyed forever)

After a rather Rioja fuelled evening yesterday saying farewell to Maxie G as she prepares to leave for Vienna for a while, I staggered home. If only I had collapsed in bed the moment I got through the door but no, I thought it would be a good idea to text The Hobbit. Then, when I didn’t get a response from him I texted Almost Famous, who did respond. Dirty, dirty drunken sexting followed, which I shall recount to you at a later date once I recover from the shame of it all! Ohhhhhhh my, I do recall mentioning that I was naked and prepared to touch myself inappropriately. He asked for pictures. I don’t think I sent them…

But this morning, my alarm went off at 6 am and I nearly died. I have not seen 6 am on a saturday for a while and until today I wasn’t sure it actually existed. I showered for about an hour with the hot water on full, desperately trying to rid my system of wine, and drank gallons of green tea in the hopes of avoiding hangover. This did not work.

Somehow, I managed to get myself to Ealing Broadway to meet Nora by 9am (was supposed to be 8.30. Damn you central line), and when I got there I jumped in the car and we were on our way! Only when we hit the M25 did I discover that when Nora said she’d got back from her Devon recording session at 5, she meant that morning, not the night before. The night before, she and her band had been swimming in the sea. Serious.

So, with an hour of sleep and significant amounts of caffeine, Nora was… a tad exciteable on the journey north of Watford Gap. With Jonathan Ross’s show on as loud as we could stand to keep us awake, we made a couple of pit stops (one for greasy food, one for petrol) but otherwise drove northwards with remarkable amounts of enthusiasm for two such sleep deprived and hungover people!

Then, about a mile away from the homestead, we turned the Sat Nav to silent and I slid down in my chair so I couldn’t be seen through the windows, and called my mum. I acted as hungover as I possibly could, saying I had just gotten up, told her about the night before, said I was planning on having a quite night in with a DVD etc (LIES!) and she chatted away about horse tand Wii Fit games and whatnot. As she does.

Then, as we whizzed down the drive (after I had to use rather inventive sign language to tell Nora which drive to go down) I opened the car door and crept out, of the car, with Nora close behind muffling her excited/hysterical giggles. I knocked on the door and hoped it couldn’t be heard down the phone.

‘Oh hang on, someone’s at the door,’ the mother grumbles, and I had a fleeting thought that it would be hilarious if she pretended not to be home. She sent my dad to open the door, and he did so, looking so confused that for a moment I thought he might close the door in my face. Then, as she started moaning about people always showing up at the door at lunchtime, I crept in and opened the door to the dining room (where the phone lives) and shouted out ‘Surprise!’ in total and utter victory.

‘NO WAY!’ was the response, quickly followed by crying. Yup. That’s my mum for ya. Many hugs for moi and Nora, and gloating from the little sister that she’d managed to keep it quiet.

Of course, me being here was not enough (according to the sister who demanded to know what I’d got the mother for said sunday) so I came bearing cupcakes. What else?

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Spent the afternoon eating cake, playing Wii, avoiding cats and laughing as Nora actually fell asleep on her feet and eventually gave up, retiring to my bed for a power nap. Then, of course, we headed to the famous pub for the Ham and Eggs that Nora has waxed lyrical about for the past two and a half years.

THIS PUB IS THE WEIRDEST PUB YOU WILL EVER DINE IN

It’s called The Dovecote, it’s somewhere along the A46, and from the outside it looks like a nice, pleasant, friendly pub. I called the number on the billboard and made a reservation for six pm, and thought all was well.

Well, when we got there, it was like walking into that pub in the Wicker Man. Just with less people. Every head turned and glared a little bit, in a kind of ‘you’re not local!’ kind of way. Um… my Dad’s family own the hotel next door and my uncle lives down the road. Shush, little village weirdos.

Went to the bar and stood there for ten minutes or so until someone bothered to stop chatting and come and serve us (Ritzi was getting a liiiiiittle bit snobbish and southern around this time) and I said we had a reservation for 6pm. Apparently, this was something of a novelty.

The woman who served me pulled my father’s pint, turning to her colleague as it settled and feeling the need to inform her that her boil popped last night. No joke.

When we AT LAST got into the dining room (we were waiting in the bar for about half an hour while they found menues, even though the whole menu was on a blackboard next to us anyway) I remembered why we put up with the insanity of the country folk. The dining room looked straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Ahhhhhhhhh.

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And the conservatory was even better, although a little chilly for this time of year sadly!

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Candles on the tables, beautiful presentation and while Nora was happy with her Ham, Egg and Chips, I opted for one of the few but fabulous vegetarian dishes (a concept not entirely understood by the country folk), a baked goats cheese salad with fresh caramelised onions and AMAZING rustic fries. A lovely evening was had – at last – even though we admittedly had to ignore the insane waitress who thought we really needed to know that the chef was a temp who’d not been there for a while and couldn’t actually understand the menu. Satisfaction was, in fact, a miracle.

That was, until they made me pay a pound to use their credit card machine, which I had to use at the bar because they ‘aren’t quite tecnologically advanced enough to have a mobile PDQ machine’. Seriously… who carries eighty quid or so in cash to pay for dinner?

Full of cupcakes (so much better than staying for desert!) Nora and I just finished listening to the results of her recent recording sesh and put our feet up in front of a roaring country fire.

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I’ll cope with the crazies for another day.

RitziCx

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An Awkward Lesbian Moment To Begin Your Day

Posted on March 11, 2010 | Leave a comment

So last night I went to meet the lovely Nora for a bite to eat – which is actually quite tricky feat as Nora is allergic to everything. Seriously, when you invite the girl over for dinner she brings her own can of beans and sausages (remember them? they still make them!) so she isn’t an inconvenience. Bless her cottons.

Anyway, it just so happens that I’ve got rather good at finding places to cater to her mad intolerances, so last night we headed over to Beetroot Vegetarian Cafe on Berwick Street in Soho. It’s one of my favourite places – you know everything’s veggie friendly, and you just buy a box (small, medium or large) and then point in the general direction of what looks tasty and they whack it all in there for you. Personally, if I could eat nothing but their roasted veggies for the rest of my life I’d be okay with that.

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We got onto the subject of Mimi and her current drama with her swedish lesbian lover (she likes her drama that girl) which reminded Nora of a recent experience of her own.

‘You know how I go to that church?’

‘I do indeed.’ Each week, crazy, bohemian, rosie-and-jim-boat dwelling Nora goes to this crazy church place and plays the most ridiculous sounding sports (Ultimate Frisby, for example) and then goes for a sauna and a beer after with the other church folk.

‘Well, the other week I heard people talking about this girl who does massages, I thought I could do with one because I’d just got back from touring and had been driving a lot, so I asked her if I could get one. It was only £15 for half an hour so I thought, why not?’

Why did I get the feeling this was going to get interesting, I wonder?

‘It was really great and everything, but then she told me to turn over,’ Why would you? ‘So I did… and then she started giving me a boob massage! She said loads of people carry tention in their boobs!

‘What did you do?!’

‘Nothing! I closed my eyes first and then thought maybe that wasn’t the best idea so I opened my eyes and then I didn’t know where to look! I looked at her and she was looking back at me and smiling!’

At this point I get a mental image of the situation and just how uncomfortable Nora – who once decided to give lesbianism a go and went on a date with a woman to a gay bar, giggled a bit and then remembered that she actually likes cock – must have looked. I almost choked on my sausage-free sausage roll.

It gets better.

‘Then this week I saw her and said hello, and then she asked me if I was going for a sauna because she was and she wanted to join me!’ At this point Nora nearly has an anurism. ‘At what point did I give off the lesbian vibe?’

Um… around the time you let this woman fondle your breasts? Poor, unsuspecting Nora.

We then proceded to reminisce about a show we were once in together in a theatre around the corner, and recalled the most amazing pub lunch we’d ever had (while recording the album of said show) in a studio near (ish) to my dear old mum’s house. We soon became obsessed with eating there again, and decided we needed to roadtrip up to the midlands and go there again. Checking schedules we realised that we were booked up for ages and ages… except for this weekend. Suddenly, a completely awesome plan was born, to get up bright and early on Saturday, drive up to surprise my mum (for Mother’s Day – see my logic? Don’t have to acknowledge that I forgot to send a card!) and casually suggest popping over to the most amazing pub lunch pub in the world for a bite to eat.

I called my little sister to make sure they were going to be around at the weekend;

‘Hey, are you about on Saturday?’

‘Well… I’m going out.’ Of course. She’s always out. Students, bah.

‘Will mum be home though?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Because… Nora and I are going to drive up to *** and surprise mum for mother’s day!’ *Fanfare* *Trumpets* *Streamers*

‘Hmm… alright then. But you’re not coming out with me.’

Thanks little sis. I miss you too.

Might have something to do with when I pulled that bassist she fancied… maybe. Geez, you only chased after him for two years and then I swooped in and distracted him with my womanly curves… let it go girl!

And there lie my weekend plans… stay tuned!

RitziCx

For those who care, Beetroot Vegetarian Cafe is at 92 Berwick Street, Soho, Londonia. Open til 9pm, it’s basically amazing, and I highly recommend it.

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HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Hilarious!

Posted on December 15, 2009 | Leave a comment

Just got off the phone to my crazy friend NORA. She’s in a fabulous band just a little too cool for words (usually) but last night she was dressed up in stupidly high heels and a super tight dress and found herself sitting on a bus next to a ridiculously hot man. Thinking it was her lucky day she intended to sashay her way off the bus and give him a wink as the door closed. Now that would have been cool.

Instead… she fell on her face.

Brilliant!

And I mean, she actually (her words, not mine) faceplanted right onto the pavement and lay there for a full ten seconds after the bus pulled away, frozen with mortification! Then it took her an age to get to her feet again, as her dress was so tight and short that she couldn’t get up without the world seeing her arse.

Poor girl.

RitziCx

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