Well riothero appears to be back and functioning – and with its rightful owner at the helm. It’s diffucult to tell whether or not his meeting with Matt and I was what pushed him back into it or not. Here’s the pictorial fruit of three meetings in London.
The first meeting in London takes Mark, Matt & Es and I to Balans Café in London’s fashionable Soho. First impressions are that Mark looks much more like a Spanish waiter than he used to…
We managed to catch Matt in a rare pensive mood at one point in the evening. Matt’s hair is unstyled and his t-shirt comes from threadless.com.
No doubt I was saying something exceptionally funny in this picture, although god knows what it was. Note how my face looks all inflated and weird in this picture as if I’d just turned thirty and turned into mush on the spot.
I made Matt take lots and lots of pictures of me on this evening in a vain attempt to get one that didn’t make me look like a drooling octogenarian. All these attempts were hideous failures. He will be punished…
We had so much fun we all completely lost track of the time. We all get to the tube late, and miss our trains. Matt makes sure that Mark gets a cab back to his hotel. Later Mark will give me some money to give to Matt and I’ll spend it all on drink, drugs and wild wild women. But don’t tell Matt, ok?
Tuesday lunchtime and it’s time to hang out with Mark and his mum in Jonathan’s on New Oxford Street, near Holborn. A lovely time is had by all (I hope). At one point, almost symbolically, a plastic bag is blown in from the street. Thankfully, no riots or heroes follow it in…
In which Mark looks sheepish for the camera… He’ll thank me when he’s all old and crusty.
The final picture is a bit of a farce, frankly. Last evening in London for Mark, I try to get some people together at the last minute and kind of fail, I get rained on so my hair goes all wonky and horrible and I’m all grim and sticky and tired and insane looking, we think about going to see a film but there isn’t really a film to watch, so we kind of mill around a bit. We try to take ONE good photo of us sitting in a café – after about a dozen and some very dirty looks, Mark holds out his arm and snaps us from a distance. We both look a bit stupid, frankly, but it’s the best of a bad lot…
