I would tell ya that I can still bring on the weird

Posted: December 17th, 2009 | Author: Jessica | Filed under: Date Night, Keepin the Weird | Tags: central london, covent garden, dancing, irish pub, london, porterhouse | 1 Comment »

photo credit: **Sheila**

Here I am, half way around the world from the small town I grew up in, and my uncanny ability to attract the weird still rocks every where I go. Fantastic. I knew some might worry that once I left Utah, USA that my unique super hero capability might diminish in strength. But fear not, my little friends. And I only say little because you must all fit into my laptop and I opted for the 15″ screen instead of the larger option. My bad. I know – but you will forgive me soon enough.

Grab a beer – you will need it.

Go on.

I will wait. No really, I will still be here when you get back.

Ah good, you stopped drinking Coors Light in a can, I am so proud of you. Anyways, so here I am in London. Yes, land of  real ale and pubs and one of my favorite outings on date night with my beloved. We head down to Covent Gardens in central London. Do click the link, I have specially programmed it so that it pops-out in a new window. Speaking of, I learned a little British while here, and found out that “pop out” is very similar to “pop off” however the first phrase means to exit the underground and pop out on the street, and the second is to pass gas. Which is NOT pleasant when stuck in a small train car with several other hundred tightly packed humans trying to get from one stop to another. Just sayin.

So we are having a lovely dinner at Pontis, where we were able to talk them into giving us the very last table available in the restaurant, when we decide that for the remainder of the evening we shall wonder around the Covent Garden and see what pops up as we go. At this point we had only had one glass of hand made mulled wine which is a local favorite during the Christmas season and it had not been enough to prepare us for the next upcoming moments.

photo credit: indigo_jones

Walking along the Strand we were often lured by sounds of people laughing and having a grand time just beyond the dark alley entrance. Not being scared, and with my invisible super hero weird attractor cape on, we followed the sounds and took a chance. Our first entrance was to the “friendliest pub” in London, and I know why – because it is only 20 square feet and if you aren’t nice you are probably won’t get on well there. People with foul body odor need not apply, in those tight corners it is only smiles and laughs that go there. We left.

Down the next dark alley, we landed upon this fantastic Irish Pub, the Porterhouse. We cross the red ropes and head towards good times and really good ale. Immediately we find ourselves at the bar ordering two of their famous pints. I went for the unusual Strawberry Beer, and should have known that my next encounter would be with a rather unique tart. We keep wondering levels trying to figure out how to get to where the band is playing and even though we hear great music, we only could get as close as back stage. Well stage being an unused platform and back being the staircase downstairs that was roped off at the end.

Finally making our way to the real basement area, we find a piece of available standing space in the back corner and settle in for what was to become a staring role in weirdness featuring yours truly. Chatting with our coats still on, and semi close together as to not intrude on any of the other folks enjoying the music, we are abruptly tapped on the shoulder by a young chap in a sweater vest and a smile a mile wide.

He flings opens his arms and shouts to us, “Helllllooooooooo” and instantly my weird-awkward-situation antenna is at full alert. My invisible weird super hero cape is suddenly flying at full speed, and I respond with, “Ahhh, long time no see dear friend”. To which my beloved, knows that is code for, “what the feck? I have no idea who you are” (notice the use of the English swear word ‘feck’ in proper context) and we smile back at our unknown friend. He then leaps forward in a warming embrace of both of us to which we have no option other than to oblige. We hug.

We still hug.

Yes, still hugging.

We can’t escape. To our hopeful relief, his mate (another good use of British talk) walks up to us. We smile. He smiles.

We still are hugging.

Oh wait – a good song is being played by the band. We MUST dance. No we shouldn’t. But he insist we do. Our new friend would like us to put our drinks down and dance. I make this sound like it was a suggestion, trust me it was a smiling, happy, command. And we did exactly as told. You might not be aware of this dance, matter-of-fact, I don’t think anyone in that entire bar had done this dance. Let me explain.

You, being well pissed (meaning drunk as a skunk – how many drunk skunks do you know? where did that phrase come from?) grab two unsuspecting people who look to be a very normal, very together couple. You tell them to put their just purchased pints on some strange table. You then grab their hands, yes, one of each and make them connect the other two hands forming a cute circle. Remember ring around the posies in kindergarten? Well we are back, except, now instead of spinning in a circle you just dance. But don’t stop holding hands, even if you really want to. You must stay in this odd circle because it makes the leader very happy. Then start the wave. Yes, the wave. It is now 1983 and time to do the robot wave. You haven’t done it in a while, I know, but the leader must insist you do it.

I thought this might be some sort of make fun of the tourist game that they all find fun, but nope, it genuinely was our new friend’s way to have a splendid time with friends. Even when you have only met them 2 minutes prior. We danced. We entertained. But that wasn’t it. Now, my new friend decided that he must swing dance with me. He has me hand over my coat to Jeremy (yep, the beloved one) and then off we go. He spins me in such a manner that my purse that was still attached to my body now becomes a deadly weapon harpooning innocent bystanders that happened to be within spinning radius. Seeing this as my escape route, I keep spinning myself right out of his grasp and duck into the crowd behind.

Now there is an opening, an opportunity for a new dance partner, and who should arrive? His mate! Finally the rescue squad has arrived. Seeing that he was now occupied, I managed to find my way back to Jeremy so that we could watch the next number together. The mate sort of hugs and picks up our new friend and they look like a stallion and a sweater vest wearing cowboy. They do some sort of pony express dance which ends up with stallion guy dipping cowboy on the floor within inches of concrete.

Then the dance stops. We go to the bar. Our trip to refill our drinks was a secret, not so secret plan to look busy as so not to get into another hugging war with our friend. They continued the hugging war with each other, much to our delight. More laughs, more hugs. You get the pattern here.

We move back to a slightly less happy table, with our new friend. Well I wouldn’t say friend so much, as patron using the table as an elbow rest so that he can sleep standing up. Yea, impressive I know. And remember the movie Batman with Danny Devito as the penguin? Now you have an image for what this character looked like. The best part is that when the band played a great song, he would awake from his somber, sing a few lines and then return to sweet dreamland where he caught up on the latest East Enders show (a British show they go mad for over here and after watching several episodes myself, I still can’t understand half the dialogue).

Finishing the night out on our Thursday night date ended with many good memories of our new friends at the surprise bar in the middle of a dark alley. As we walked back to the underground station to catch the train home, we laughed at how I still have the magic ability to find the most interesting person in the bar simply by being present and smiling.

All in good fun.

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