“Ah, the crystal of Belarus; unsurpassed” said a man leaning against one of the many bars at this elegant townhouse club in Soho, holding his whiskey glass up to examine it.
“What? More crystal than Waterford?!” I exclaimed.
“Oh yes” he said. “I remember being in Soho House in L.A. once, picking up the water jug and the handle just fell off in my hand. It happened straight after I noticed that the bottoms of the glasses were all different depths.”
Special indeed. P and I forged on ahead. “We need to find James, P” I said. “I want to find out more about this crystal.” Someone heard me: “I know him!” called out a passing waiter.
“Brilliant – can you page him?” I enquired.
“Jeez S, What decade are you in?!” came P’s retort.
I have to say I empathised with her dilemma – certainly at the beginning of the evening.
Cold glittering pavements met my snow boot shod feet as I left the house. This was a night for adventurers, curious people, resilient Londoners. With a temperature of – 2 degrees layers were required to brave weather so freezing that it hurt ears, numbed hands and nipped consistently at already chilled faces. But oh, the reward.
One of my favourite things to do is to take myself out for dinner. The venue is crucial. One has to feel at ease – dining alone is not for the faint hearted after all. But, if you should happen upon the right place, it’s heavenly.
It’s hard to put Rembrant’s portraits in the shade, but I’m afraid Goya more than gives him a run for his money. In fact I’d go so far as to say he totally eclipses him.
Conversations with Strangers 