Monday, 29 December 2014
This write-up has been a while coming. We've been to eat at Colmans more often than anywhere else I can think of, both before and since I started electronically recounting these gastro-ventures. The up side of this is that, unlike most places where I'll go once, declare it to be good, average or crap (as if my subjective experience on one particular night can be extrapolated from) I can fairly claim to be something of an authority on this place. I might even be worth listening to. The quid pro quo is that I'm personally invested in the things that come from their fryers; we decided some time ago that the fish and chips here are better than any around, and have brought legions of friends over the years. Such is the dilemma of expertise. Still, you can make your own mind up for under a tenner, so let's not lose any sleep over it, ok?
Sunday, 21 December 2014
Well today was a bit of a stinker and no mistake, the type of Sabbath which might drive Alan Partridge to exclaim "Sunday, bloody Sunday!" Not only did the mackems dole yet out another dose of misery to those of a black and white persuasion, but it looks very much like scenes such as the one above may soon be consigned to the scrapbook. We popped down to the plot to find a couple of notices saying that the Freemen of the City are now minded to shut the allotments down.
Wednesday, 17 December 2014
I'm writing this having just sat through Newcastle not turning up to a major cup tie for the ump-bloody-teenth time, partly to remind myself of a fairer day, not so long ago at all. 2-0 against Chelsea was a remarkable reprise of the previous year's performance against Jose's lot. Chelsea sympathising friends were up visiting for a spot of football and merriment. Needing somewhere to round all this off I suggested House of Tides, thinking an expertly done Sunday roast would be an ideal coda to a fun weekend.
Tuesday, 2 December 2014
"We should totally go there for food sometime". God knows how many times, peering inside as we scampered down towards The Sage, we've said that about Raval. An Indian menu that avoids the usual Bangla-tastic clichés, some luxurious ingredients and a recommendation from no less a curry fanatic than Cliff Richard: there's plenty going on here to pique the interest. En route to what turned out to be one of the best gigs I've ever seen (John Grant- honestly, what a bloody show) we finally did what we'd threatened to for about five years and popped into Raval for a pre-music dinner.