Thanks for coming along for the trip.  As I was saying, Eurostar is a great train, by and large.  But sometimes they misstep; so I'm glad that I had a small nosh as the this is one of the few times that the train food does not live up to expectations (a rather tasteless salmon in crayfish sauce and a strange artichoke flan, for example, along with cold creamed rice with caramel sauce for dessert).

Sitting across from us is a rather unusual English couple, “posh” as they say in London.  Here’s her comment about political correctness and perceived racism:  “What should I say then, non-white whites?  How could I treat my servants any better?  I hug them and give them a glass of sherry.  I, racist?”  Get the picture?  Naturally, this is covered by the cloak of eccentricity and charm (their cat is named Jazzy Jolly Jodhpurs and is treated better than their grown children).

We arrive back in Brixton around 7 pm; Paul is working up in Cheshire for a few days and I’m very tired, so Matt and Bryan go alone for another performance by the Divine David at the Vauxhall Tavern.

This time in the audience is Marc Almond of Soft Cell.  The mastermind behind “Sex Dwarf” (played every Saturday night for seven years at Spit when I was dj) is someone I definitely would have liked to meet; interestingly, he was recently named by the Jacques Brel Society as the foremost living interpreter of Brel.  Our tastes do change, don’t they?

This week, the Divine David adds “lap” dancing to his espousal of “pole” and “tent” – this means a live, female stripper added to the act.  Even going with his extreme punctuation of social and sexual mores, I’m glad I missed this one.

Staying home, I opt for a quiet dinner back at Pullen’s; simple cauliflower and cheese soup and their Philly cheese steak.  The boys arrived back around 1 am and then it was bed for all.

Wednesday, July 21, this is the day reserved for the Tate Gallery (recorded information at 0171-887 8008); we especially wanted to see their new exhibit of current British artists, “Abracadabra.”

Taking the Underground from Brixton to Pimlico, we stop for original sandwiches at the not so originally named “The Café” near the Tate.  At the museum, we are fairly disappointed in the current exhibit (although I find as I research these notes that the artists were international).

However the museum is deservedly renowned for it’s collection of JMW Turner (1775-1851).  These do not disappoint; neither does the Andy Warhol soup can tie that Bryan finds in the shop (Brussels was supposed to get this purchase).

Also, we see a picture of Ophelia, by Sir John Everett Millais, a print of which Fr. Craig has hanging in his dining room; indeed, it was his wife Judith’s viewing of it in the Tate many years ago that led to a long fascination with Ophelia and even the real-life model!

Then it was off into Soho, to the Liberty department store.  This is very much like ABC in Manhattan; just tons of different types of furniture and furnishings (plus a men’s clothier on the side).  This fantastic building features the timbers of a sunken ship and even has a story about its pirate founding.  Plus, Bryan gets me a beautiful Art Nouveau box (now sitting on our hallway console, the new bearer of the apartment keys).

By then our feet were tired and we retired for a drink at Freedom bar (where we got the photo of the Divine David) and one at the Admiral Duncan; this bar was the site of the hate bombing a few months ago. Then we picked up a couple of bottles of wine on Old Compton Street and headed back to Brixton.

Matt and Paul have invited their friend Tabitha Neal for dinner; you may remember Tab, an artist and teacher, from New Year’s Eve.  Matt shows off his cooking prowess once again, preparing a tasty canneloni along with salad.  Around 11 pm, Tab leaves, Paul goes off to sleep, and the three of us retire to the living room.

On the telly, the BBC is showing a multi-part documentary looking at gays on Fire Island.  It’s just terrible; they capture one renter complaining about a another renter on an “alternate” week drinking his vodka.  Bitch, bitch, bitch.  Even if it’s all true (and I do seem to remember many similar arguments while there), it’s overdone and highly dramatized.  I suggested turning down the sound and just watching the pictures (Bryan has never been to Fire Island and I thought it would be a good preview), but I’m with the two satirical brothers so I just pass out on the couch until they’re ready for bed around 1 am.

Thursday, July 22, we’re up very early in preparation for our day trip to Brighton, on the south coast of England.

By 10 am, we’re on British Rail and by noon we’re having lunch at the same café at which we had lunch over New Year’s.  This time, the kitchen and wait staff seem to be in agreement and the food is fast and good.

Bryan lucks out immediately after with a ceramic bowl at a thrift “department” store (lots of individual stalls).  I’d like to think that I helped out by “sighting” it.  And although it’s gray outside, it never rains and it turns out to be a perfect day for wandering this pretty seaside town.

Again repeating our last visit, we once again have a drink at Dr Brighton’s (a gay pub but you do have to search out the small rainbow flags to be sure) followed by dinner at Brown’s (a good quality franchise on Duke Street).  Again, this is the same as last time as I have the buffalo mozzarella/tomato salad and the spahettini arrabbiata, Bryan the roast red peppers and hot garlic shrimp on pasta (a disappointment this time).

There is a new piece of art on the ocean, based on the physical model of the toros - an inside out sphere.  As near as I can tell, it's made of copper and contains the continents as indentations in the surface.  It's actually quite beautiful.

On our last visit, we extensively toured both the amusement pier and the palace so there was no need to repeat those.

By 6 pm, we were back on the train to Brixton.  Around 10, we took the Herne Hill train to Soho but really didn’t do much.  We didn’t even have one alcoholic drink as the pubs close at 11 pm and we didn’t feel like paying a cover to the clubs.

So we had a late night sandwich at the Old Compton Café (a gay gathering place on the eponymous street) and took a taxi back.

Friday, July 23, we have no plans for the morning and take advantage of it by sleeping until noon.  Paul has already left for work, so the three of us have lunch at a cute Jamaican sandwich shop (although the sandwiches are foccaccia with fillings).  Interestingly, there’s a nice looking Italian pasta/pizzeria named Pangea across the street!

My appetite has obviously returned as I not only eat the whole sandwich but even eat again when I pick up a baguette at the Lounge while Bryan relaxes later in the day.  And speaking of relaxing, when he does it’s in the lovely back corner of Matt and Paul’s backyard; Matt has covered it with a small algae pool, complete with frogs and fish.

The boys have plans this evening and so do we; at 7 pm we begin a long walk to Camberwell Green, passing a “posh” area of Brixton and a park where Mendelssohn composed some of his most famous works.  This really is beautiful area, this is the top of Herne Hill and you see for miles around you.

Arriving in the town center, we meet Bridget and her family (her father Donald and his wife Carol – we met them over NYE, her sister Ellie – just about to start a professorship at Phoenix, and their cousin from Ottawa engineering the high wire acrobatics at the Millenium Dome).  As you might guess, the wide range of personalities led to spirited conversation!

We ate at Takim (spelling?); this Turkish restaurant has a small bakery front, but when you go to the small rear outdoor garden it’s quite comfortable.  You have your choice of wine – red or white house – and most of the dishes look the same only because each is an eggplant (or aubergine, see above) pressed into service as bowl.  We went through plenty of both, and even for varieties of desserts, before parting ways with her parents at 10.

The rest of us stopped into Father Red Cap for a drink but it really was too loud for five people.  We finished our conversations (and in my case, good-bye to Bridget) and Bryan and I grabbed the bus back to Brixton.  Yes, we became quite adept at mass transportation in England.  No, a return to bicycling is not in my future, it’s just that their transit system is so functional.

Saturday, July 24 … Our final day and we’re up at 7 am!  We have time for breakfast at the Lounge (two very good English breakfasts) where we enter a contest in the Independent newspaper.  It’s who, what and where pictures and the answers are the Cutter family of Kansas (murdered in 1959), the Black + White Ball (thrown by Truman Capote) and The Plaza Hotel in NYC.  Since I’m currently reading George Plimpton’s primary source collection on Capote, the answers are very fresh; maybe we’ll win the champagne!

But we must go; Bryan is on a mission.  He has heard tale of thrift and matte white ceramics, beckoning him to an area northwest of Soho.

Yes, my friend, we are on our way to Portobello Road – home to tourists everywhere.  But Bryan senses a sale immediately and picks up a few pieces before ever getting to the Road itself.  This makes the rest of the shopping easier as he has bagged his prey.

Around 2, we had a drink at a small pub (with the largest oysters I’ve ever seen served) and headed back into Soho, where we hoped to get last second tickets for Mamma Mia, a musical based on the songs of Abba (yes, you read that right).

But none were to be had, so it was a drink at Freedom and a final purchase of a small black cloth valise for the plane.

We had planned on a Rem Kolhaas exhibit but just got too tired; by 5 pm, we were back at the flat in Brixton.  At the last moment, Bridget and Jude invited everyone to a barbeque at their home, but I just had no social energy left and begged their indulgence.

Matt, Paul and Bryan went and had a great time (or so I gathered from their 4 am arrival home).  I feel I was the lucky one however; I had dinner at Three Monkeys nearby (136/140 Herne Hill, Herne Hill; phone 0171 738 5500).  Ah, my reward for me.  Matt has advised me that, although he hasn’t eaten there, it’s gotten noticed and the décor looked perfect for one of my relaxed, personal meals.

I arrive at 7:30 pm and am greeted by the owner, Jan Peacock.  No, from what I could tell, he’s not Indian at all.  Quite dapper, I thought, and (although I’m sure this is fraught with all sorts of implications I’m not intending) I felt he resembled what I would think of as Tony Blair.  A tailored, pin stripe suit looking good in a clean, white environment; although somewhat underdressed myself (mind you, that didn’t stop me from being in the upper percentile for dressers anyway), I felt quite comfortable here.

And since this was one of the main meals of the trip (albeit shared with no one), here are the details.  I immediately started off with a bottle of wine after ordering; my waiter suggested (after my prompting for a red “saint”) a 1992 “Lady Langoa Barton” St. Julien Bordeaux.  This liquid velvet continued to be my friend for the whole dinner; indeed not a drop was wasted.  For dinner, some masala ka tikka (chicken in a creamy sauce) began and sukha varuval (a fiery chicken dish) was the main event, along with some lemon rice, garlic naan, cucumber raita and papadum to keep my taste buds satiated.  A nice slowdown afterward, with kulfi for dessert and a glass of pacheranc for, well, more dessert!  Finally, another amazing cup of British coffee and I was ready to return.

Total cost?  Consider that the wine itself was 26 pounds (and worth every – uh – shilling?) and the entrée was 8 pounds, the total of 68 pounds was not out of line for the type of dinner I enjoyed.  Plus, that included a 12.5% discretionary tip.  Being trained as an American, this makes me uneasy as I’d normally give more; but even the waiter said no, and that the staff wouldn’t receive it anyway.

My compliments to Mr. Peacock and his exemplary staff for making this a great dinner; it’s not always easy to eat alone but they were attentive without being obtrusive (and one even taught me something about eating Indian food – don’t expect me to share it, just to use it!).  One more thing:  in response to an e-mail from me asking for a picture of his restaurant, he sent me over a dozen.  So, temporarily at least, if you'd like to see more of 3 Monkeys you can.

Back at the flat, I use this packing opportunity to go through Matt’s Nick Drake box set.  I used to listen to him just after college and I’m sure I haven’t heard him since.  A suitably melancholy way to end the vacation.  I’m asleep for a couple of hours before everyone arrives home and goes to bed.

Sunday, July 25, we are up perfectly on time.  We’re in a taxi and on the way to Gatwick by 9 am, in line by 10 am.  We arrived early to try to get an upgrade or at least better seats but it was not to be (insert standard diatribe about frequent flyer miles).  Luckily, in a three person row, the man on the aisle decided to change seats after takeoff leaving us with the spare middle.

And since Virgin Atlantic operated this particular Continental flight, we had great service, individual video screens and great (for an airplane) food.  Our plane left England around 1 pm and placed us in Newark at around 4 pm.  We went right through customs (although everyone says that to be the case at Newark recently) and got into the hottest cab on the hottest day of the year.  I’ll not go into the reason why, but he just didn’t have working air-conditioning.

Anyway, our housekeeper had put on the air-conditioners at the apartment so it was nice to arrive home.  Unfortunately, there was a phone message from Bryan’s mother about his stepbrother (who lost his leg) and his wife (who lost her life) in a freak accident in Wyoming.

We stopped over Scott and Susan’s to get Rosebud and go off to Pangea; I’ve been looking forward to their spaghetti bolognese for two weeks.  They’ve taken it off the summer menu!  Oh, well, it’s good food and anyway we're home.  I’m asleep by midnight after unpacking for two hours; some of the yield is below.