Thirty Thousand Streets

Monday, March 17, 2008

Bloomsbury Bowl

So last night I went to Bloomsbury Bowl in, er, Bloomsbury.

It was fun. It kind of reminded me of a smaller, less arty Shunt Bar, insofar as it was subterranean, oddly laid out, and groaning with hipsters, in this case a notable proportion of which were dressed in Rockabilly gear, because this is a bowling venue, and of course, bowling is inexorably linked with the 50s, which is to Rockabilly types as the 60s are to mods. Personally I associate it more with teenage birthday parties, which aren't maybe so cool.

They're doing a brisk trade by the look of things, and it was six bones on the door, and 36 odd to hire a lane. We got there before eight and were just able to book a lane for eleven. Apparently this could only be done in person as the limited amount they'll book out over the phone had been booked up months back. Anyway, you get an hour, which sounds like a lot, but actually is about enough for one game. If you're really into the bowling then you're probably better off going to the one at Elephant and Castle shopping centre, which is cheaper and they'll let you wear your own trainers, which I wouldn't have minded as my bowling shoes were awful sweaty things with velcro flaps on them. I didn't come last, at least.

After that we danced around a bit to some rock and roll, though the sound system didn't have much oomph. Some brylcreamed weirdo with turn-ups kept taking mobile phone pictures of one of the girls I was with, which was a bit disturbing.

We left around two-ish and headed out, wandering down towards Holborn to catch a bus back South of the river, and managed to lose two of our companions when we did get on one. We got off at Waterloo to wait for them to catch up. Julia, whose birthday it was proceeded to drunkenly arrange Sainsburys shopping baskets up the pavement around the bus-stop (she's an artist, bless her). We left shortly after.

Got into Peckam another bus ride and a taxi cab later. Piled back to a friends for vodka and Orangina, which was dandy, until a huge oestrogen fuelled argument broke out and people started screaming at each other and slamming doors and crying. I took this as my cue to leave, grabbing a bag of vinyl I'd left leaning against a wall at a party three months ago.

Woke up this afternoon to hear the wind buffeting the house like a plaintive ghost. Found this oddly pleasing. Fixed a huge breakfast and read the papers, sipping coffee. Got the internet back at our flat, so wasted some time there. Also did some work.

Working up in Soho tomorrow, and for the rest of the week. Some other bits to sort out too.

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