Russell's Week on the Sauce: Stage Two kicks in today, with a high-powered post-business meeting with Mr Davisss Taylor and Mr Peter Magnus Leary Esquires.
We discuss the current political and economic situation in France at present in trendy Carnaby Street watering hole The White Horse.
France done, we skip over to The Sun & 13 Cantons for one more. It was a bit of a risk to be honest because whilst the Horse is always 10 deep at the bar, The Sun is much smaller and much busier. It's usually rammed with awful media types wearing trainers and t-shirts and with hair and stuff, and definitely not a place to pitch up with a small suitcase on wheels. Surprisingly it's fairly empty as most people seem to be drinking on the pavement, so not only do we get a pint fairly quickly, Davisss' teeny tiny chariot doesn't cause too much damage.
I think it is a sign of how much we've matured that we head off into Soho for dinner whereas a few years ago we'd simply have got a packet of nuts and several more rounds of beer. On Magnus' recommendation we go to an Italian he knows on Dean Street. Curiously it isn't there when we arrive but there is one two minutes down the road. Maybe his internal GPS is off?
Il Siciliano is fairly atmospheric inside if the food is a bit hit and miss, and I feel exactly like Don Fabrizo in The Leopard - hurrah for Book Club. The house red is rough as boots though. Me and Leary opt for parmesan-stuffed meatballs for starters and Davisss has the bresaola salad, all of which were fairly good I think.
It goes a bit pear-shaped over the mains though. My vongole was pretty good but I think Davisss' illegal veal escalopes were dry and Magnus was left bewildered by the arrival of his bolognese in a bowl with a crispy, cheesy top.
We finish the evening in Dennis Nilsen's favourite pub, The Golden Lion, for a quick pint to remove the taste of rough house red.
As there's no photo-record of this great event I feel there's space to stick something else up. Luckily I've got a new obsession, thanks to Radio 7, Armstrong & Miller's fake Norwegian band Strijka from their pre-BBC days when they were good. Here's Tjildsen, which I pretty much listened to 1 billion times today, and then annoyed Lucy Ferguson with. Please, don't applause now