RELAY RELATIONSHIPS

It's the last day of the beautiful weather and I write to you having learnt two things since Tuesday [not bad, not great]:
ONE] The Olympics aren't so bad: This morning saw me toddling off down the road from work past Barbican
         station to a road crammed full of people eager to catch a glimpse of the famous Olympic Torch and its
         bearer. The celebrations began with a wave-shaped Coca-Cola bus adorned with hyper red-clothed people
         slowly making its way round the road closely followed by the other 'official sponsors' of the games trying to
         hype up a crowd mostly filled with suit-clad people and the occasional wildly excited child. What followed
         next [quite bizarrely] were what I supposed were athletes wearing red wigs, riding tiny weeny bikes and
         waving streamers. It was a bit like a Disney parade but without all the Disney, and whilst it sounds a bit
         underwhelming, I thoroughly enjoyed it and felt suitably hyped-up for the appearance of the famed flame.
         After this, several stray cyclists who had somehow managed to get into the path of the torch were cheered
         on by the entire crowd, one even waving like the queen, soaking in the love on his way to work.
         Now having made sure I watched that Billy Mitchell episode of Eastenders as prep, I was less than happy
         to find that the torch bearer was:
              a] not David Walliams, and
              b] speeding past us faster than Usain Bolt with really cool rocket-powered trainers.
        It was one of those 'what torch?' moments, phones clicking left right and centre with heads turning like
        those of the spectators at Wimbledon [insert comical cartoon noise here]. But whilst this was a bit of a let
        down, all in all I can safely say that I am glad I went and experienced a bit of this relay, if only to start my
        day off outside, sunshine blaring, surrounded by a sort of buzz, the 'Olympic Buzz', because frankly, this is
        the closest I am going to get.

This is the company that decided to get a roof terrace so they can have the best seats for things like the Olympic Torch Relay and...other things.

Here are the funny little bikes and their funny little riders.

And here's the money shot. I'm surprised my phone was able to respond that quickly to be honest.

Lovely smile.

TWO] Kristen Stewart has cheated on Robert Pattison with Liberty Ross' husband who is nearly fifty.
          I can't say that I am particularly moved by this story, but I can see three things wrong with it:
               a] 'Kirsten Stewart has cheated on Robert Pattison': She did that to him? [she was already punching
                   higher than Snow White's dwarfs trying to catch kites in the sky]
               b] 'with Liberty Ross' husband': Liberty Ross is the victim. Oh dear, this woman is beautiful, feisty and
                   pretty damn cool [thanks vogue.co.uk].
               c] 'who is nearly fifty': That's like me dating someone the same age as my dad.
          I'm obviously scraping the barrel here with this last thing i've learnt [i didn't really learn too much in two
          days - clearly], but i like stories like this so I can see reactions like THIS .

She's going to have to be watching her back like that a LOT now according to 'Nutty Madam' [her words, not mine] Emma Clark

Tomorrow is the beginning of the weekend [I can't bare the thought of no rain] and OH YES the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Be sure to watch in [probably on BBC one around 7pm], if only to see why they've
turned the stadium into a field.


STANLEY

SUN, SWEAT AND CYCLISTS

Well HELLO Summer and my haven't you taken your time. It's only Tuesday but i've learnt some fairly interesting things since Thursday:

ONE] "Cylists do better when they have large noses because they are more streamlined." Ah yes, true words of
          wisdom from my father's mouth. I have no idea how this conversation came about whilst we were
          watching the cyclists battle it out for the yellow jersey of Le Tour de France, but it did, and then it got me
          thinking [always a worrying prospect]: Can cyclists wear prosthetics Mrs Doubtfire style or would the pure

          heat experienced during the races simply melt them like little chocolate fudge cakes in a microwave?

          Will we ever find out? I doubt it, but let me put it to you that aeroplanes aren't shaped the way they are for

          no reason..

Well Done Bradley 'the Mod' Wiggins. Yellow is definitely your colour.

TWO] The weather is genius. You're right, I am attributing human-like qualities to the sunshine, but really, there's 

          no other way to describe how I feel about it at this moment. Not only do my chilis feel like they're in their
          native homes [soz Jalapeno], but:

               a] the journalists I speak to almost seem happy to help me on the phone

               b] it is socially acceptable to wear anything you want in almost every situation [barely anything
                   in most cases. No one said that was OK though], and

               c] the days spill into the nights and everything becomes one long summer laze-fest

         Although we're all kicking ourselves for not making use of our annual leave this week [don't bother
         commenting if you're busying sipping Mojitos on Hampstead Heath], I can safely say that the sun and

         heat have come at a wonderful time [some may say suspiciously so], coinciding with the London leg of

         the Olympic Torch relay.

This is how I felt at work yesterday and today.

I may or may not be going to watch the Torch for myself on Thursday [i'm the only one who wants to go from my

entire floor at work. Awkward.] so that's something to look forward to. That and the rain on Friday.

STANLEY

OH MY BOT

Happy Thursday and oh have I learnt something as obscene as the thought of Gemma from TOWIE rolling around in a paddling pool full of mud.

ONE] Robots are [well on the way to] taking over. That’s right – think Will Smith and his metal-clad friends, only

         worse. These robots even look like us [and by us I mean the general human race as opposed to a shiny

         bit of R2D2 wheely fun]. I’ll admit, I may have read this on the Daily Mail website [my lunch-time fountain

         of wisdom] but lets not be too hasty. There just so happens to be a video on the site which dispels any

         doubtful thoughts to the furthest away point of Timbuktu. This so-called robot has a name, albeit with a

         number at the end of it, Bina48, lest we forget that it is not actually human [a bit like calling a dog

         CharlesDoggy]. In every other way it also bares a startling resemblance to a wrinkly, over make-upped

         lady in her more mature years. Oh wait. Wait – it doesn’t have a body. Yes boys and girls, this robot does

         not have any limbs. Rather than being a glaringly obvious mistake [come on now quantum physicists] this
         fact pleased me for two reasons:

               a] it won’t be able to run after me once it crosses over to the dark side and starts waging war against

                   me with the toaster and it’s valiant steed, the hoover, and

               b] it looks kind of funny.

        Jokes aside, this phenomenon relies on us humans downloading our thought processes as such onto the

        robot’s memory, allowing it to think independently from there. It’s exactly what you think. The robot then

        forms its own personality based on the personality of the person whose information it has. Madness? Less

        80s band behavior and more on the bloody-battles and fake abs Sparta level. Not satisfied with freaking out

        the entire world population with word of this invention, the makers have decided that they want the bust to

        be able to tell jokes. Think exceedingly morose clowns with happy faces painted on in bold colours and you

        start to understand just how bizarre this all is. The bot is being sold with the idea that you’d be able to have

        conversations with your deceased grandma after she is long gone. Now I love my grandmas to bits, but the

        thought of having conversations with plastic versions of their heads [but with far more garish makeup] and

        an uncannily train-station-tannoy-esque voice sends the wrong kind of shivers down my spine. Don’t

        agree? I’ll leave you with a link to the video so you can decide whether or not you’d like to have a bunch of

        floating heads with their own brains sitting in your house whilst you are cozily sleeping in a room right

        above their heads [quite literally].

Lovely emotive photo complete with artsy fuzzy background. SEE WHAT I MEAN?! [Thanks Daily Mail for your photograph]

TWO] Chilis are a bit greedy. Yes, it’s time for a chili update! As it stands, the Jalapenos and Scotch Bonnetts

          are still lagging, refusing to grow any taller than they need to, with the Unnamed Chilis and the American

          Chilis devouring more sunlight and water than a baby on the chubby side [no surprise there] and

          apparently deciding they are intent on growing in such a way that resembles a mini rainforest. Excuse me

          for being a bit pessimistic here, but how much time do I have to wait to catch the tiniest glimpse of an

          actual chili?! Yes, I admit, I need to re-pot the lot, but really, not even one little spicy sighting is starting

          to make me think that Chili growing’s not what I hoped it’d be. Disappointed? You should see my face

          every day I come back from work and run to the window…

Unnamed Chili - Right. Weedy excuse for a plant - Left

American Chili - Left. The least spicy, smallest Jalapeno plant in the plant world - Right

Hopefully the next time you see them they'll be potted and more chili-like.

Lets see what the weekend brings.

Hopefully some sun.

SK

SWEDISH MAFIA MAFIA

It's only been a weekend, but i've learnt two things worth mentioning:


ONE] Swedish House Mafia are cursed. You've probably all heard the distressing and pretty shocking news that
         nine people were stabbed at their Phoneix Park gig in Dublin last week [not to mention the two overdose
         deaths and the thirty arrests]. It may or may not therefore come as a shock to find out that on Saturday
         after the band's gig at the Milton Keynes Bowl a further three people were stabbed. Am I the only one who
         thinks this is weird?! After the news about the first gig, not only would I have not gone to their MK gig, I
         would have:
               a] deleted all their songs from my itunes for fear of spreading the curse via cyber-waves and
               b] gone to the Scottish Highlands or somewhere equally as distant from Milton Keynes [I got as far
                   as Birmingham, not before battling my way through the masses of scantily-clad twenty somethings
                   dressed as teenagers buying tickets at Euston to [[yep, you've guessed it]] Milton Keynes]
         As a result I thought i'd have a listen to their tunes to see if I could hear any correlation between the music
         and the apocalyptic-esque news. All I can say is that they sound like a mish mash of listening to Justice
         but with a really horrendous internet connection that buffers every two seconds and the standard Ibiza-
         massiv character-less pounding dance tracks. One song you'll all recognise is One (Your Name), though
         there's no other justification for the hype and consequent tragedies surrounding them. Perhaps if you play
         the songs backwards there's some subliminal messaging akin to hypnosis [i'll never know because my
         tape-player got thrown out with my cuddly toys], but what I can tell you is that anyone who goes to
         Swedish House Mafia's next gig on 22nd November  is probably [most likely] certifiably insane.

I never trust people who wear sunglasses indoors.

TWO] The Olympics suck. Olympic Athletes have been tweeting about how disappointed they are with the
          Olympic 'vibe' so far after it took their coach four hours to get into the Olympic Village. Olympic gold and
          silver medalist Kerron Clement tweeted this encouraging little sentence earlier today: "Um, so we've been
          lost on the road for 4hrs. Not a good first impression London." I'm not sure I can add anything to this other
          than I can only begin to imagine how the Opening Ceremony is going to turn out. Oh well - at least now
          the games have come to the UK we can all stop being so pessimistic and watch the events first hand! Oh
          wait...

Here's my six year old cousin's bedroom. Oh no. No wait, it's an example of a room in the Olympic Village.

I'm back on Thursday with a chili update [if they're still alive by then]

SK

WIMBLEFOOD

Welcome to the first of many weekly posts, still for things I learn but in the hope that I learn more things per week than I have been doing. Feasible? Probably not. A challenge? Where do I sign? So here are a few things I have learnt this week:

ONE] PASHA Turkish Restaurant in Angel is really rather good. Squeezed next to Paul and opposite

         Desperados, this establishment is a wonderful example of refined eastern food. Complete with a melangé

         of Turkish/Radio 6 worthy music, smart, sharp lines and snippets of traditional rugs, this restaurant

         marries honoured Turkish cultural norms with a more refined dining experience. Do not come to this

         restaurant if:

                a) you are not prepared to be rolled out of a restaurant or, 

                b) you are not prepared to be rolled out of a restaurant.

         The Mixed Meze (£6.95) is a great way of sampling dips and little treats to get your appetite going, but
         for those of you wishing to avoid the element of surprise, the selection of starters available please both
         the most firm of carnivores and vegetarians alike, with the Imam Bayildi: Aubergine stuffed with

         fresh tomatoes, onions, green pepper, parsley and garlic (£4.75), being a particular crowd-pleaser.

         The main dishes present a variety of meat, fish and vegetables cooked in traditional ways and seasoned
         delicately, all presented as smart and appetising as you're probably imagining. Best dish of the night has
         to go to the Baked Seabass with wilted spinach, crushed new potatoes and lemon olive oil (£12.95). The

         fish was presented in the foil it had been baking in, keeping all the flavours locked up in a sauna-type

         oven - just as healthy without all the sweat and towels. Keeping in true British spirit, the gigantic home

         made rustic chips were ordered and devoured just as quick, but leaving no room for the delicious sounding
         deserts. We instead opted for Mint Tea - Turkish style with no tea bags in sight and a sea of mint leaves

         filling our glasses.  The attentive and extremely accommodating service was the icing on the paklava with

         waiters even helping me retrieve my phone that had flown out of my hands into some sort of sofa abyss.

         This, along with an extensive wine and cocktail list ranging from tap water to Laurent Perrier Rosé all
         made the experience at PASHA a memorable and satisfying one.

         RATING: 5/5

I couldn't stop touching the wallpaper. It felt so velvety!

Here's a cut-off picture of the food. And a big green chilli.

TWO] Wimbledon is pretty cool. Last week I was fortunate enough to 'do Wimbledon darling' - 25th Wedding

          Anniversary style on the day of the Women's Semi Finals. Strawberries, champagne and tennis = 

          a pretty amazing day. Amazing and interesting. Did I see anyone famous? Only Cliff Richard; but the

          really unusual bit came during the first match I saw. There was a very noticeable phantom clapper who
          made either one or two claps, a whole two minutes after the entire court had stopped clapping. To my

          horror I discovered that the phantom clapper was none other than one of the ladies' COACHES. Fishy?
         about as fishy as a fish platter with extra fish. To my disbelief the only people who seem phased by this

         were my family [awkward]. In the end we came to the conclusion that one clap = ace it and 2 claps = hit

         the ball wide. Then the most brilliant thing happened - there appeared a phantom saboteur who had

         clocked on and began clapping after the coach. Brilliant. This is what you come to Wimbledon to see and

         hear! This and Serena Williams beating the impressive Azarenka, a lady who I can only describe as

         making noises akin to an owl getting tortured in front of some really scary big warden owls.

Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary mom (left) and dad (right)

Here's our view. You can almost see the top of Cliff's head if you squint. A lot.

Next week you'll get a chili update.

I hope you're ready. They're pretty impressive.

SK