Pride

I was in town yesterday and pleasure-bent, so the regular sufferer will be unsurprised to learn that a trip to 10 Greek Street for supper was involved.  I should perhaps make clear both that these regular mentions do not yield any benefits to the writer and that, in this case, it is somewhat relevant to that which follows.  Yesterday’s new 10GS discovery was straw wine – not wine made from straw, but made from grapes dried on it.  This leads to the most intense and viscous dessert wine I have ever tasted – and trust me, I’ve tasted quite a few dessert wines in my time.

However, this is not the main thrust of this article.  As well as playing host to yours truly, London also seemed to be hosting a street-based celebration by the homosexual (and broader LGBT, or some anagram thereof, btw. who chose the sequence of the letters?  Was there a committee and a lot of acrimonious dispute?) community.  This seemed to be aimed at breaking-down lazy stereotypes – or at least the idea that those drawn to the co-gendered were possessed of good taste and a tendency to be well-dressed.  Dearie me, I’m no style icon (or at least I hope not) but I looked positively dapper by comparison as I wandered across a small corner of Soho  in need of sustenance.  It also seems that the current trend for very skinny trews has led to many choosing the emaciation of their lower limbs which then look like recent escapees from a nest when exposed by shorts (held up by braces?).  Still, on the plus side, my own rather weedy legs now feel positively Herculean.

Talking of Hercules, to reach my supper from the Crossrail related mess that now surrounds Tottenham Court Road tube station, I have to walk along the side of Foyles (or oft times through it) and under the demigod’s Pillars (a pub, rather than anything related to Gibraltar).  Yesterday, this particular street was full of ambulances, paramedics, stretchers and medical tents.  I had no idea that those living at variance with gender choice heterodoxy were particularly accident prone.  However, with a little more thought, I recalled the proverb that “Pride comes before a fall” – and assume the ambulance service were firm believers in the truth of this wise old saw and were anticipating grazes and contusions galore in need of treatment.

In fact, I saw no-one in need of medical attention but many in need of relief, so perhaps it would have been more useful to provide extra WC facilities.  The disciples of St John provides ambulances for major public events, but where is the Saint looking after those with a need to micturate?  Google suggests it might by St Vitalis of Assisi, but where are his followers when you need them?

Feel free to continue the lunacy...

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