On Saturday 20 July 2009 the world of rugby was buzzing, The British and Irish Lions took on the World Champions South Africa in Durban. The first of 3 mammoth tests to be fought out over the next few weeks. I knew the game was on Sky TV, which I don’t have at home so set off to my nearest watering hole, ‘Chelsea’s friendliest pub’ – The Queens only to find out the friendship didn’t extend to paying Mr Murdoch for this particular game and inviting us all round to watch it. I put Plan B into action and had to move sharpish as they had kicked off. I weaved my way through the Kings road tourists like Shane Williams on a shimmy laden sortie, eager to score in The Chelsea Potter. I’d seen the last Welsh game of the Six Nations there, packed out, a rugby fortress amongst the fashionistas. Unfortunately this time they were showing Ascot, I saw two old punters at the bar, clinging to betting slips dribbling! Oh no! OK, I now decided to put my i phone to Google maps, flicking back and forth to the pub search on my Vicinity application. But not until I’d checked out The Trafalgar, just across the road. Actually I could see from outside it wasn’t on. Off to the Builders Arms then but as I saw the ‘Geronimo Inns’ sign next to the mother breastfeeding her baby outside I knew there wouldn’t be a single drop of beer on the Danish Oiled floors. The nameless wine bar on Sidney Street that used to be a boozer was equally disappointing. Back to the Kings Road then, Henry J Beans bar and grill, I was sure I’d seen sport there before. I was right, as I rushed in trying to decide which of the multi-screens to focus on, I saw figures on a pitch throwing a ball. Yes, a rugby ball? No, a baseball! Man, I need to get my eyes tested.
Surely the Irish guy behind the bar would know, Ireland had won the 6 nations a few weeks earlier. We agreed that my search would be more fruitful on The Fulham Road so that’s where I headed to – PJ’s was a long shot, I was right. Vicinity pointed me to The Crown next to the Marsden, not another breast feeding mother in the window? Bizarrely yes so I moved onwards to The Anglesey Arms where I’d seen the FA Cup semi final a few weeks earlier and bumped into Julian Lloyd Weber. I walked in and walked straight out. At this stage I decided to salvage some of the game at home watching on my laptop on one of those dodgy freesport sites so I hopped in cab. With a faster mode of transport I quickly decided to keep on hunting and expand the search area and headed for the Sports Bar at the mall at Fulham Broadway. 10 quid of a cab fare lighter I sprinted up the escalator building myself up for the second half only to find Sky Sports News on, sports bar my arse, this was starting to get properly stressful.
Outside I decided to head home on the tube only for one last brainwave …. Earls Court! Home of Aussies, Kiwis and Sarfers by the boatload, I was sure to find the game on there, 1,2,3 pubs four. I checked the screen and went straight through the door. I managed to watch the last 18 minutes of an awesome game. The final result after a sterling Lions fightback being 26-21 to South Africa.
My afternoon’s stresses melted away when one of the twentysomething stag party (dressed from head to toe in luminous orange including make up) standing opposite a thirtysomething group of South Africa fans shouted to over, ‘you lucky f*****s, you can stick your boomerangs where the sun don’t shine’….

I nipped into my local Prime Time video store on Sloane Avenue on Friday night. I love it in there as you get a proper cross section of the community. Loaded Dads with their kids picking 3 films for a mammoth movie marathon coupled with pizza washed down with litres of coke – you know it’s their only non organic meal of the week. You also get trendy youngsters picking a couple of splatter flicks to watch before heading into the West End or the bars on Walton Street to try their luck and run down the trust fund.
There’s also the kids from the next door estate spending what’s left of their pocket money (that they got on Thursday) after the film hire on the pick ‘n’ mix – jelly snakes and, ‘Jacobs Ladder’! Pensioners too,  mulling over the oldies, a chance to be transported back to better times, “they don’t make ‘em like this anymore Dot”.
Friday’s rental arrangement was a little different in that all films were only available to buy, it took me a while to work it out but I was in the middle of a fire sale: 24 season 6 £10, 5 latest releases for £15, 5 oldies a tenner. It was un-nerving. I enquired if the store was undergoing renovation only to be told the Sainsburys Local next door had acquired the land to double the size of the existing facility.
Sainsburys and Tesco, not content with ripping the heart out of Britain’s high streets, have in recent years taken the battle to the inner city residential and suburban areas. The result is the ‘local’ and ‘metro’ convenience stores, gobbling up the sites of former bars, banks and independent traders (the prime enemy) peddling a nutritionally spartan array of high salt high sugar snacks and ready mades for your average IQ challenged lunchtime office worker or post pub punter looking for instant munchies.
If you want to prepare a square meal you’re better off buying your ingredients from a Network Rail mainline station concourse – seriously.  As for getting enlightened, and increasing your blood pressure, read about the dirty tactics of the big four supermarkets in www.tescopoly.org. Once you have, stop giving them your money,  support your local traders and farmers markets and do your digestion a favour too.

PS; Actually the Prime Time pick ‘n’ mix is a more honest option than some of the guar gum laden coleslaws and dips in Sainsburys .

I spotted a most bizarre yet lovely sight recently that could have taken me straight back to the Hollywood Hills. Stumbling out of one of the Mansion Flats near Cadogan Square was a young mother wearing MBTs coupled with White (Sweaty Betty type) MC Hammer pants. I say this as I was deep in thought with head down and clocked her from her toes up.  She had a tight white vest on that only one-to-one intensive Pilates sessions could have sculpted and you could tell that she didn’t need the block book a course discount. She was carrying an open MaciBook, 3G roamer USB stuck in the side with iPhone  pressed between her shoulder and cheek. She was eloquently mouthing directions to the person on the other end of the phone whilst reading from the laptop screen. Once I had taken all this in I realized that, ambling like a pair of obedient Serpentine ducklings, her two gorgeous kids followed dressed in shabby Chelseaboho chic thumbing their Nintendo units without a care in the world…
How cool is that? Move over Helena Bonham Carter…

For some time now I have scrutinized the behaviours of people making their way through the various crossings at Sloane Square. From the absurd ‘shared’ space outside the tube station, already commented on in a previous blog, to the mixtures of zebra and pelican crossings at the other extremities of the square. I tell you it’s a Traffic Management PhD’s wet dream. From my observations it seems that the zebra crossings are the safest (yes I mean this) and most favoured places to negotiate the traffic – mainly because of location, traffic flow, vision – and most importantly lack of congestion . Now as there are more of these than pelican crossings, it seems the majority of locals choose to treat the pelican crossings (button operated with flashing green man) as if they were zebra crossings (black and white stripes on the road). Confused? Hey, spare a thought for me, I’m on a tube train writing this, with a squawking kid next to me.
The evidence is that in addition to many previous occasions, I noticed this morning that people are happy to follow the heard, mustering around the crossing like cows at the dairy ready to be milked before darting out to play with the traffic. There’s the odd young alpha male who legs it across in front of a bus glancing over his shoulder seeking danger cred. as he heads off, the stroppy, perennially spotty teenage girl who minces over in her skinny jeans clutching her A4 file of lecture notes – head down ignoring the traffic, the professional man/woman loaded with laptop/gymbag/handbag who makes a calculated effort to cross only to have to abort and do a 180 to return to the safety of the kerb edge desperately hiding their embarrassment – actually that’s me!
All this could generally be avoided if somebody just pushed the button..really.