Party Planning for contrary people

I'm having a party to celebrate a birthday and also to help the athletes close the Olympics. So we needed careful planning and consideration on how this would go.

The best way to approach these things is have a drink and make a list.

We have now had a drink and have a cocktail list.

Here's the list.

1. Invite amazing friends and my flatmate
2. Go to Waitrose Iceland/Lidl for pizza and spring rolls  and stuff
3.  Dartington Crystal Poundland for glasses
4. Lots of wine
5. Lots of vodka. Bugger. Done that, drunk it
6. er...
7. Is that it?
8. Count beds and divide by two?
9. Sort out music
10. Leave major problems with flatmate
11. Invite several concurrent lovers (see 10)
12. Ooops. Choose party frock. Wish the diet had been more drastic....

What could possibly go wrong? How is a grown up party any different from a university party? 

Experimental cocktail towers...

More cocktails this evening after a whimsical journey home. Did anyone else write a poem on the tube journey this evening?

Ruby Ruby Ruby

With ice, shake together one and a half measures of blueberry vodka, half a measure of cherry liqueur, half a lime, a splop of blackcurrant jam and a dessert spoon (ish) of ready bashed mint. Strain into a martini glass and top up with some apple juice. Decorate with a berry of some kind.

Clare's St Clement's

This one is very much an acquired taste. I like fragrant tastes like violets and roses so orange blossoms was an obvious cocktail ingredient.

Again add ice to a cocktail shaker, add a measure each of orange vodka, lemon vodka, a good squeeze of lemon and a spoon of marmalade. Pour into glasses and stir in the blossom to taste - I liked a good teaspoon to give requisite depth. Top with fresh orange juice, not the stuff I used. Decorate with a sliver of orange or a curly peel.

[One yet to have a name - Lemonberry?]

This one was so simple and pure in berry lemon taste. Shake a measure each of lemon vodka and blueberry vodka with a good squeeze of lemon juice and a spoonful of blackcurrant jam. Strain into glasses and top up with apple juice. Decorate with a berry or sliver of lemon zest

Just add cheesy music...and get party planning!

Cherry Popper: Summer in a glass

As my flatmate quaffed the East Fourteen so quickly and immediately demanded another, I definitely wanted something summery this time. You know the sort of drink. You're sitting under a tree with a lover, cherry red lips begging to be kissed and a sweet scent of summer all around. Add a deceptively innocent ice cold cocktail and grass stains are inevitable...

Lovingly take:

Juice of half a lime
Measure of orange vodka
Measure of cherry liqueur (mine was foreign but am sure you can find something)
Dregs of a bottle of vodka
A good spooning of raspberry jam

Shake over ice and pour into ice cold martini glasses. Top up with apple juice. If I had any fresh fruit I would have popped a strawberry/raspberry on the side to be sucked. Summer refreshment in a glass.

This was so good that flatmate has just licked all round the glass and used a finger to get it all out. We are not a classy joint but I like an appreciative audience.

Why cherry popper? Because you're never quite the same after your first one.

Summer? Happy Christmas...

I dream of being a mixologist and thinking up new cocktails. 

Today orange blossom water popped into my head. Would this complement the orange vodka that's languishing in the freezer? This is an academic question as I don't have any flower water. Being too lazy to go into Canary Wharf again, I considered my store cupboard. 

I took the following poured into a cocktail shaker containing about 5/6 ice cubes:

A measure of orange vodka

A measure of Croatian prosek (or a sherry)

Half measure of krupnik

Juice of half a lime

Half measure of syrup of figgy conserve

Shake well and pour into martini glasses. A dash of apple juice to top up seemed appropriate but I think fresh orange juice would work too.

Now this was intended to be a summery fragrant orange drink but I am of the impression that it would be marvellous in the depths of Saturnalia with a dash of burnt cinnamon flamed across the top.

*sigh* Even my drinks are contrary so I shall revisit. I love the eastern feeling of decadent heavy spices from the fig, wine and honey so it had to be called East Fourteen. 

In the meantime, bottoms up and Happy Christmas.

A week's a long time...

They say a week's a long time in politics. Nothing though when compared to Contrary Towers, where an hour is an eternity filled with juxtaposing contrasts and twisting ideas. A week ago I wrote about our escape from London to escape the hype. The result of the exhaustion brought on by constant reports of doom. And Boris on the Tannoy.

But here is the advantage of being contrary. It's okay to change the mind.

On Friday we spent a lot of the morning watching the Olympics, the odd thing at first, we were both working at home, but by the end of the athletics session we were glued. There, said it. On the way to Norfolk to see my children and the nearly-ex I found myself checking the news to see how things were going. Me. Checking sport. Me. Weird.

And here I am on Saturday night. I've shed buckets over Jess Ennis, clutched my hands over Greg Rutherford and squeaking with excitement as Mo Farah did an Ennis and didn't just win, but won with style. During the day I was updating my flatmate by text with the latest news as I bumbled around the house, again, unheard of. I even had my laptop connected to the BBC as I cooked.

I've just had a text from my Irish gentleman friend, he's back from the Olympic Stadium. And, I admit it, I am actually quite jealous, I would have loved to have been there. But then as, until yesterday, I had no interest whatsoever, it was unlikely.

It's not the sport thing. It was the sheer humanity of the competitors, athletes, rowers, cyclists, every one of them. And that they could draw together not just this fucked up country but also this even more fucked up individual is, in itself, nothing short of a miracle.

I salute you all. And, when I return, might just have a Limehouse Half Cut in your honour.

A contrary outlook?

A long time ago I came across a snippet of a piece of poetry by the inimitable T.S. Eliot hidden within the Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B by J.P. Donleavy. I first came across this book by chance in the darker corners of the cloakroom at my University's summer ball.

Don't ask why I was in the cloakroom.

Anyway, years later, when I was rather stupidly getting married I wanted to use these words, but couldn't find them. In retrospect I realise it might have been my subconscious trying to tell me something.

Ten years later I tried to find them again, nada. Very frustrating. And then, about a year ago, I did stumble across them. But, being the ditzy thing I am, I promptly forgot where. But was overjoyed that I did find them. Where I was when I found them, with my perverse hindsight, makes sense.

Last night the words came up again, owing to a quotation of T.S.Eliot on the score of A Child of Our Time.

'...the darkness declares the glory of light'

I had to hunt the words down as, I felt, they almost matched the joint outlooks of the residents of Contrary Towers.

I hope you like them.

From Little Gidding, the fourth quartet of, err, the Four Quartets by T.S.Eliot

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Being contrary

Things are a little weird in Contrary Towers at the moment. Owing to the O word my flatmate is working from home in the morning whilst I am seeking new contracts and prepping for various things. Except yesterday I wasn't, I had a lot of prep to do, but my heart wasn't really in it during the morning.

Which will be why I was pondering dinner.

I couldn't decide between pea and pesto soup with fish finger croutons, or maybe a greek salad omelette, or perhaps thai beef stir fry. My vague idea was to pick two, get in the ingredients we didn't have (namely because I ate all the fish fingers) and cook one. Sounded like a plan.

Until I looked at Twitter.

Without wearing my glasses.

Me: "Oooh, Belshazzar's Feast is on at the proms tonight!" Her: "Oooh, fancy going?"

Now the problem here was I'd not noticed that (a) the text might have implied that the person was writing after the event and (b) the post time was 15 hours earlier. Whoops.

It didn't take long for the brighter one to work out how dim I really am. By now we both liked the idea of going anyway so tickets were booked for prom 25.

Hurrah!

The plan was set, we'd meet at South Kensington station at 6:30, what could possibly go wrong? Well, given that I'm a ditz and I kept saying Kensington High Street, quite a bit...

But it didn't. I got there early. My flatmate got there early. So we went to find a sandwich. Which will be why we ended up sitting in Little Japan on Thurloe Street. After all, I'd been listening to Japanese tourists on the District Line and had understood maybe one word in ten. Perfect.

I've just read a review on the place, hmm, I think it must depend on what you eat, my mixed meat and noodles was lovely and my flatmate is still alive after eating prawn. Hey ho. So we liked it. And the chilli sauce was astounding. In a good way.

Van Dough... An open pizza oven!

Next stop, The Royal Albert Hall. Via Exhibition Road. This has changed so much and there seemed to be some sort of festival going on. Which normally would have distracted us completely, but we did have tickets to collect and music to listen to. Anyway, there was a stage, with interesting music being played, bored looking security, fabulous eateries with silly names and...

Peter Pan eat your heart out...

...people on strings. Huh?

This had drawn quite a crowd as a group of people did a sort of aerial ballet off the side of the Imperial College Engineering faculty. This was very impressive. What was even more impressive was Exhibition Road itself. It's now been pedestrianised and the change to the feel of the area is quite astonishing. It's so nice to meander down and actually see the buildings properly without dodging, well, anything on wheels.

Oooh, orange vodka!

Moving on we passed a few more eateries. And drinkeries. Including one that had the requisite orange vodka for a Limehouse Half Cut. I doubt they had the not-so-secret recipe though.

Waiting in the queue at the Albert Hall box office was interesting. There was a druid! I kid you not. But this was good, as druids were mentioned in the programme. What wasn't mentioned was that we were standing in the wrong queue.

I know, you're shocked.

Once we got ourselves in the right queue, for pre-booked tickets, all was well. Except I nearly walked past the entrance as the last number I had in my head was 12, which Clare had previously mentioned, but we were looking for 4. Yes, I know, ditz. Honestly, I think she did it to confuse me.

The music was amazing. I might have shed the odd tear, but we'll not talk about that.

I also might have told a tourist to stop clicking away with her SLR. Grrr. And another thing... SWITCH OFF YOUR PHONES YOU RETARDS. FFS. Is it so difficult? Same with coughing. Please go and die elsewhere during the Adagio.

Anyway. It was a fabulous Contrary Towers evening. Even more so for the fact that it was unplanned and a result of me not being able to read a tweet properly.

How wonderfully contrary is that?!