A Kings Ransom

The Olive Press was last night the scene of unrestrained debauchery. It pains and humiliates me to confess something that will provoke disgust and outrage in you, gentle reader. Last night, after entering the restaurant and tottering down a small flight of stairs in my very high heels, we were told we had to wait for our table so headed to the bar, where we ordered a pint and a double Baileys... the pint cost £3.50, which is a rip off but we are prepared to deal with that as it's the norm to be ripped off in most places we go. But the Baileys... the Baileys... oh the Horror! NINE POUNDS!!! Have you seen how little liquid you get in a double Baileys? The glass is most definitely half empty! Moreover, for NINE POUNDS (FOR A DRINK!!) you can almost buy a bottle of the stuff. Let me just put this into sharper context. Before 7 o'clock in said restaurant, they do a £10 meal deal, which offers 2 courses and a glass of wine! There was a group of women next to us when we handed over our hard earned cash with faces agog, who sympathetically advised: "you'd better enjoy that drink!" "Fucking hell," Boyf complained, "Let me have a taste!" The rest of the night is a complete blank. I have never quite recovered!

That'll be £95 and your first born son please.

Oh okay, it's not a complete blank, but seriously that totally put me off the place and I didn't enjoy the rest of the experience at all, even though it was quite decent. I didn't like the food I ordered, but thems the brakes sometimes, the starter was scrummy, and it was nice to go someplace new. I won't be going back though, that's for sure!

We had a 9:30 table so we hit the Tapas bar before we traipsed over to The Money... I mean Olive Press, and had some yummy sangria. The bar was packed and we had a good laugh trying to fit as many Elvis related words and sayings into our conversations - childish but effective, just add alcohol. Sample Quote: "Can you hold this for me please? ...Thank you very much." We forgot to take a watch so kept having to ask people the time or try and spy a look at their wrists. We were next to a group of Cockneys, and when one of them laughed it honestly sounded like he was sobbing his heart out. They told us they'd been waiting for a table since Tuesday. Better to wait than pay NINE POUNDS FOR ONE DRINK I say! Sorry, I'll get over it when I get a job with a bigger salary, company car, and perhaps twelve underlings. Can I just say we used to think the Tapas bar was expensive and the round there costs half the price than the one at Satan's Rip-Off Dump? Like the Murphy's, I'm not bitter. I think I'm traumatised. I'll probably have to drink solely in Wetherspoons (cheapy cheapy cheap cheap - and, according to the website, award winning loos!) for a bit until I recover.

Don't step on my blue suede shoes, bitch!

Anyway, after leaving The Restaurant That Shall Not Be Named, we hovered in the doorway for a bit deciding whether to get soaked in the rain or try and hail a cab. A passing cab, it's orange light answering our dilemma, wrapped up all such discussion and we got in. Then regretted it. Taxi man just rabbited on at us for the entire journey, and after hearing with satisfactory revulsion our tale of the £9 Baileys, suggested that I frequent an area well known for prostitution to earn the money back. When Boyf protested, taxi man argued that I didn't even know what that meant. I must look innocent or something. All in all, a bit of a mixed bag as nights out go.

Oh, and also, when we passed Havana, everyone was standing around the TV watching X Factor :P So I just about know that Journey South made it through as they were on when we passed. Because of my week in France I missed out on a bit of X Factor and haven't really kept up with it as I should have, but I'd like to say how gutted I am that little Trevor and James didn't get through. Trevor made me cry when he said that he thought he'd just be stacking shelves for the rest of his life. The poor mite is only 16. On a more worrying note, I think Chico is actually starting to grow on me (like a fungus?) At least he doesn't come on singing boring ballads every week. I just wish he'd stop telling everyone it was "Chico time!"

You know, in the olden days, they used to Press people to death with big stones for committing certain crimes... don't think there were any Olives involved though. And very little Baileys.