i keep a diary

October 22, 2003

European Vacation Part 5: Reunited with Grant.

So after the crazy-ass first leg of our trip, we all finally managed to get some decent sleep in actual beds at Charlene's place

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Around 10:30am we were awaken by a sexy, shapley, freshly-waxed leg with Coral pink painted toenails peeking around a doorway...
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...that to our disappointment, belonged to Grant. Not that we weren't happy to see him, but you know, it was weird. He claims it was for some TV show thing he'd been filming in Los Angeles, but I don't know. The number of times this kid has "had to" cross-dress for work is certainly becoming suspicious.
towel ˆ grant
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Reunited! Grant had been in LA working on a TV show and we hadn't seen him in about a month. He arrived in London in the morning and woke our asses up. We showered, got dressed, and headed around the corner to a "builder's diner" right around the corner from her flat and we all ordered...
chris a ˆ fatty ˆ grant ˆ me
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...proper Full-English Breakfasts! Woooo! Beans, sausage, fried egg, bacon and bubble and squeak (and toast and friend tomatoes on the side)!
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Fatty grabbed this pic of us too busy eating to look up. (Oh, and Charlene was with us too but for some reason she's hiding in all these pics!).
brunch ˆ full english ˆ chris a ˆ fatty ˆ grant ˆ me
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Chris and Grant posing in front of "the Orchard" sign. (They met back in 1999 when they both worked at The Orchard record label).
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You probably know this already, but advertising is WAY better in the UK.
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After our meal had settled (and we'd finished molesting posters) we hopped on the tube and headed into downtown London to do some sightseeing.
buildings ˆ bus ˆ london
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Oh, and Fatty and I needed to try to find cheap pairs of "dressy shoes." On our way home from Greece we'd planned on going to Essex to visit where Grant grew up. He wanted to take us out on the town "Essex Style," but apparently they won't let you into any of the "clubs" in Essex if you're not wearing "dressy shoes." (And he explained that our "But we're from New York City!" protests probably wouldn't get us anywhere but the hospital).
buildings ˆ london
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London being London, it started raining just a few minutes after we got off the tube. We looked around for umbrellas and these were the only ones we could find. "Haaaaaaaaaaaay!"
gay ˆ umbrella ˆ chris a ˆ fatty ˆ grant ˆ me
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Then Chris rolled his hat up into a leeeetle beret and started wandering the streets asking for directions in a feminine, French accent. I almost shit myself as Londoners elected to tromp through puddles rather than going near him and risking any type of interaction.
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After our failed attempt to find cheap "dressy shoes," (FUCK, London's expensive!), Grant and I decided to head back to Charlene's and relax while Fatty and Chris decided to stay behind, do some more sight seeing and go to Guitar Center and impress the locals by shredding on the guitars there (Too bad you think I'm kidding).
london ˆ shopping ˆ grant ˆ me
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"Owwwwwwwwwww! My fugging leeeeeeeeeeg! Why god? Whyyyyy?" Don't be like Shadow Man. Mind the gap!
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After a nap and some tea, we all met up later that night for pre-dinner drinks at a bar called The Social. L to R: Grant, Danni, Chris, Kate (I think), Layla, Fatty, Charlene and Grant Morris.
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You love my hippy hair. You do. I know it.
gang signs ˆ charlene ˆ danni ˆ grant
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After we were done at The Social, we went to RK Standard, the restaurant next door and got bangers and mash!
bangers ˆ food ˆ london
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After eyeing all the platefulls of sausage, the girls couldn't help but want to snuggle up with tha Grizza.
thumbs up ˆ danni ˆ grant ˆ layla
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Grant Morris aka Orangebeard the Pirate.
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Four-way dessert.
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Grant and I giving props to our man Jack (aka - Crazy Pomodoro Guy). Oh, and somewhere right around this time, Layla got all huffy about something and decided to just leave without telling anyone. (Wtf?).
grant ˆ me ˆ pomodoro jack
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After dinner, we stayed in Soho and upon Charlene's suggestion, decided to see if we could talk our way into the Kingly Club (which is this private, uber-exclusive, membership-only club that had only opened a few days ago). The rest of the group hung back and Charlene and I headed for the door to attempt to crash the club.
chris a ˆ danni ˆ fatty ˆ grant
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Charlene, PR whiz that she is, totally snowed the doorlady into believing that we were some fancy VIPs from New York that had been flown into town by her company the previous night to attend the AC/DC concert.
london ˆ mirror ˆ charlene ˆ grant
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Our schtick was apparently so convincing that they even seated us in one of the cool private rooms in the back (that we ended up sharing with Tony Chambers, the Creative Director for Wallpaper Magazine. Oooooooooh! Fancy!)
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When Grant went up to get a round of drinks, the bartender accidentally smashed a glass and cut Grant's fingers (he probably heard G's Essex accent - they apparently don't go over well in "private clubs."). You'd think a little bloodshed would've earned us a break on the £10 drinks, but nooooooooo!
blood ˆ grant
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So in the course of shooting the shit with Tony Chambers, it came up that we had wanted to sing karaoke that night but that the only place that we knew of had already closed. Tony leaned in close and in a conspirital tone told us about a private, karaoke speakeasy he knew of that operated afterhours on the second floor of a tiny, nearby sushi bar. After promising we'd keep it secret, he disclosed to us the location. (Looking back, he was probably just totally psyched to have our loud, American, clearly NOT VIP-asses out of his little private, members only backroom!)
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So a little after 1am we cut out of the Kingly Club and headed over to the "sushi bar." The place was closed, but the door was open. We walked in an were greated by a Japanese guy who eyed us suspiciously. I took the lead, "We're hear for the, ummm, you know" as I nodded my head knowingly in the direction of the 2nd floor. He played dumb, "I don't know what you're talking about." So I gave him the ol' reassuring "Of course you know what I'm talking about" smile with another vigorous, knowing nod towards upstairs.

He considered us for a few seconds and then turned around and looked toward another guy who'd appeared in the back of the restaurant. The man in the back gave him a single nod, and suddenly, a curtain was whisked back to reveal a stairway. The 2nd floor! We'd been granted access! Here's Grizzle kicking off the karaoke festivities with some Bowie.
karaoke ˆ london ˆ grant
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Charlene.
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With special guest backing vocals by Dani.
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Unless I can see the words on the monitor, I have no idea what anybody's singing in any of these pictures - so I'm just going to make it up. Here's Chris singing "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M.
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Here's Fatty singing "It's Raining Men."
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Yes, Hallelujah! It's raining men!
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I'm guessing this had to be a Van Halen song? (Check out Fatty pretending to play his guitar around Grant like he's in a Poison video. Hahaha.).
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Dani & Chris.
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There really wasn't anything you could have expected me to do! It was, in fact, a total eclipse of the heart. So just turn around, bright eyes! Ok?
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Group shot.
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Charlene doing her impression of the guy who let us in.
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And then she topped it by doing the best interpretive dance I've ever seen of Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69."
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Grant closed out the night with the hands-down best version of "New York, New York" I've ever heard. Holy shit.
karaoke ˆ grant
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We had to get two taxis for the ride back to Charlene's. Dani and I snuck away from the group and hopped in our own cab. Grant spent the entire 20 minute cab ride leaning out his cab's window (that was behind our cab) trying to capture pics of Dani and I making out.
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At a stop light, our driver was like "Could you please tell whomever it is back there to stop? The flash is driving me crazy.