The Swedish Chef...

This week saw Sweden swim up the drive and park its ass on the porch for the weekend. It tasted great and smelt just as good until it made its way back out again, then you realise that the fantastically gamey flavour of reindeer does have its draw backs.

Didn’t manage the Roxette reunion gig, with the guitar guy only (and which doth not a reunion make), but did manage a little back yard work with none other than ‘a member of the world famous pop band ABBA’ – this announcement was not elaborated on, so I guess it was the bearded guy Benny but it could well have been Bjorn? It’s difficult to tell by just looking into a guy’s back yard from a tourist boat full of other Scandinavians who would have known the answer anyway!

Ubber cool was the flavour, with late nightclubs to match; as long as you looked liked you’d just walked of a catwalk from the launch of this seasons new genius designers urban warrior collection. So the first night we just hung out at an awful Irish Pub (fibreglass books and all) listening to a poor Swedish AC/DC cover-band and spoke to some guy from Adelaide – as you do!

The next night was much more Swedish, as opposed to Irish, as we found the local in the park to be much more enjoyable and culturally inspiring… even the music was unrecognisable! Local brews, outdoors in the rain (no smoking allowed inside any more – we will see once winter steps in), beautiful women to look at (yes I was there with my wife and it is her to which I refer – celebrating our first wedding anniversary we were). Any how we staggered back to the smallest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in and finished off the night with some low alcohol beers from Seven Eleven in our wedding stubby holders – who says I’m not romantic?

The next day was junk market shopping and eating cheese – thanks to the Swedish Chef and the relaxed EU quarantine rules we will be enjoying the local fare for some time to come… although I couldn’t get the horns in the carryon luggage… so next time… Mmmm, mort, mort, shum, doo, doo…

Next the white cliffs….

Here's one I prepared earlier...

Blue Anchor Local - January 2005

In world of ever increasing regulation – and believe me I know about regulation – it has been an eye opener to experience some of the more quirkier customs of local ale houses here in the Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham. Aside from the high street DVD seller who purveys top quality movies prior to their world wide release for less than the cost of a movie ticket, the pub where there are more canines inside than humans (the four legged variety) and the ultra new technology of “chip & pin” (eftpos for the antipodeans). No!

The night after a very quite New Years celebration we manage to find ourselves in an ale house which fronts the Thames with a few hours to kill before closing (10:30 PM on Sunday nights) – the Blue Anchor! History that goes back to the 16 hundreds and all the toad-in-the-hole that you can eat for around five pounds – walls adorned with boating memorabilia and photos of the pub in the early days (well from the time when photography became widely accepted and used).

Staffed by Polish immigrants (as all ale houses are in this country are since the educational revolution of the Kiwi, Boar and Kangaroo nations and also the recent Eastern Block expansion of the EU) the Blue Anchor has it all – two types of Guinness, pork scratchings by the bag and early 80’s CD collection that would put even the most ardent Roxette fan to shame.

Upon the second tolling of the bell – we had just managed to get to the bar before hand – an assumption was made that we would be either locked in or sent on our way. Well this is when my view of Borough life lifted and my heart was overcome with the liberal (small “l”) nature of my new homeland – all were issued with disposable pint receptacles to fill from our slightly clean glass pint receptacles and sent on our way!!!

So without employment or pork scratchings the night was again upon us as we meandered our way along the river and home pint in hand – I love this place I think to myself (especially now the Polish are running it!).