0:54 Two good friends from London arrived in Sydney today so I’ve been doing my tourist bit, spending too much money, taking too much time to slide around in a haze of holiday spirit.
Started by escaping the rain after lunch with suckaos (kind of a DIY hot chocolate) in Max Brenner (Chocolate By The Bald Man) which is probably the ultimate chocaholics shop in the known universe. Thence to a shopping expedition, drifting around the city, buying G-Star jeans and two pairs of funky-ass Converse corduroy shoes. I’ve been wearing my poor old Campers to death out here, having panicked about excess baggage on the last trip here – not without undue cause, I might add, as I had 65kg of baggage – so felt some new treats for the feet were in order.
There’s a super-cool little Japanese place down on Brisbane Street called The Uchi Lounge where the tastiest cocktail I ever had was mixed with immeasurable finesse by a groovesome waitress a week after I got here. Of course, then, it was summer. The doors were thrown open as the staff hung around on the twilight steps sneaking a quick cigarette before the evening onslaught. That cocktail was a Tokyo Iced Tea, a twist on the old favourite of Paul Turner’s and mine, Long Island Iced Tea. I sipped the drink at the long bar back then, toasting Paul and his new found success as bass player with Annie Lennox… we all had the same drink tonight after an exquisite series of Japanese dishes, but (why is it always like this) it just wasn’t the same. Actually, there’s probably a very simple reason – some Japanese guy mixed it, rather than that quirky waitress with the bright red hair who gave me the run-down on every cool bar in the city.
It is strange how there is always a defining moment for the best “X” (yes, could be your best ex) you will ever have. Will I ever have nicer sashimi than the piece of ocean trout I had at Tetsuya’s on D.’s birthday this year? Or a more succulent piece of beef than the slivers of ‘Le Tigre Qui Pleure’ in Thai Thiou in Paris, 2001, the night Di was nearly floored by Gerard Depardieu? There are always these benchmarks… sometimes its better just to stay away. I have learned NOT to have creme brulee after the perfect one in, rather unusually, a 3-star hotel in Waterford, Ireland, with Eleanor McEvoy, after some dodgy radio show. Soon I will ask you to tell me your best “X” stories… the 1-LINE[MESSAGEBOX] is coming soon. Where is this little embryonic monster going? Who is going to read all this shit? Not me ‘cos I’m off to bed.
I’m going to go to my favourite cafe, ‘Cure’ tomorrow for the best latte in the Eastern Suburbs, perhaps even the best in Sydney. After a run… the rain has destroyed the training schedule – we are such WIMPS!!!