Distracted by dinner / Oscar Wilde bar, Cafe Royal

June 06, 2014
Last night was meant to be an early one devoted to writing an insightful blog post about the darker side of Cuba. The plan was to see my ladies Jessica, Hannah, and Mary over a quick dinner at Cafe Royal, Piccadilly and then politely decline the after-dinner invitation to the sort of semi-scandalous Guy Pelly-owned nightclub that the Daily Mail like to titter over. At ten sharp I summoned an Uber to pick me up from Regent Street, and by half ten I turned the key in the lock of my Shoreditch flat loudly so as to announce my presence to Henry who should rightfully run to the door and smother me with kisses. Instead he shouts, loudly, for my benefit, "Oh no, Jasiminne's home! Quick, hide the turnips!" and when I asked him 'turnips?' he said "What turnips? There are no turnips. It's just me and Mr. Jingles (his nickname for my hamster, Coolio). I've been bonding with him. I took a photo of us, look!" *Hands me his phone, the wallpaper is a picture of Del and Mr Jingles from Green Mile * . Yes, I get that sort of entertainment on a daily basis. It's improvisation meets performance art meets surrealism. Anyway, I was going to write a blog post about the less than rosy aspects of Cuban life based on the anecdotes I've heard from more affluent (and therefore more informed) Cubans, told to me over many mojitos in a fashionable art factory in Havana. Was. I got distracted because of something more serious than Henry's turnips. I want to do that blog post justice and sit down and write it properly rather than rush it in time for my 'antsy readers distracted at the office on a Friday', so to make up for it here are some photos from yesterday's dinner. 




This 'outfit' has all the hallmarks of a woman too lazy, busy, and bloated to care. Straight hair, because I don't have time to wash nor style it. I picked up my crop top from H&M today, at £1.99 it's the cheapest thing I own. I feel uncomfortably bloated and unattractive, so my favourite high-waisted skirt from Aqua gives my waist definition, hides the worst of my stomach and thighs, while the sliver of exposed flesh gives me the air of a woman too confident to care. A black blazer draped over the shoulders pulls the whole thing together and hides a multitude of sins while five inch wedges stretch me out. If you can't feel slim, be tall. If all of that fails to conceal my temporary hideousness, there's always the shininess of my Bao bao clutch to distract unforgiving and judging eyes. Look, triangles! *drops clutch like lizard tail and runs away*


Hannah looks all dressed up for a Romanian wedding. "My caravan's just parked outside, let me check on it with my crystal ball!"


The Oscar Wilde Bar...originally established in 1865...has been exquisitely restored to its authentic Louis XVI detailing...Nestled between the elegance of Mayfair and the creativity of Soho, this is the space where great minds came together to change the world. It is in this very room that Oscar Wilde fell in love with Lord Alfred Douglas, Aubrey Beardsley debated with Whistler, David Bowie retired Ziggy Stardust and Mick Jagger, the Beatles and Elizabeth Taylor danced the night away. [Cafe Royal Hotel website]



Hannah and Mary, glad to see them unscathed from the surrealism and madness of Monday night.



Ulia and Jessica.

Ulia is a Baku beauty from Azerbaijan who writes a glamourous blog 'View From Heels'. I approve of that message, the view is always better from the top. The higher the heels, the closer to God.



I insisted that Hannah play up her Romanian heritage, so we fashioned her a head scarf out of a napkin. Because casual, innocent stereotyping among only good friends is a sign of trust and closeness. How often does Diana ask me to fix her computer or phone because 'Asians are good at tech stuff'? I should charge.



Team blonde...

...versus...


...team brunette.

If anything I miss being a redhead.


This photo is all sorts of derpy, but I like it.




Mary weighs less than Coolio, I could pick her up using one arm if I wanted to.

I on the other hand, cannot be lifted not even with both their combined efforts. Fools! None can raise me. I am the unmovable force, I eat two bags of Crispello chocolate a day. 



Here are eight (myself not included) reasons why I didn't get to write my sixth blog post on Cuba (day seven). The other two? One is sleeping beside me right now, the other (carb coma) is creeping up on me and making me sleepy as surely as calories are really tiny creature things that hide in your wardrobe and sew your clothes a little tighter, every night.

So, good night. Thank God for the weekend.

6 comments:

  1. I love your description of your outfit and the rationale behind each piece! Blows other OOTD posts right out of the water :D

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  2. ...anecdotes I've heard from more affluent (and therefore more informed) Cubans

    So wrong, on so many levels.
    How are you possibly equating affluence with knowledge?
    Come on, you're better than that statement!

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    Replies
    1. Read this and you'll understand.x http://www.poshbrokebored.com/2014/06/hola-cuba-day-7-fabrica-de-arte-cubano.html

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  3. Your writing is just getting more and more whimsically deft and authentic. "as surely as calories are really tiny creature things that hide in your wardrobe and sew your clothes a little tighter, every night." Truly you are hitting your stride, tigress!

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