Hello Duckie

It’s just a day of travelling for me. I’ve got to catch a flight between London and Paris, and when I arrive I’m being picked up by my friend David.

Getting to Luton today has been a bit of an exercise. Paul and I stayed last night at the house of a mate of his (who was an excellent host… and nice bloke… and cute) not far from Wimbledon. This morning we’ve had to travel a long way, and catch several trains, to get back to Paul’s place to pick up the rest of my luggage.

Paul’s been an excellent guide and a great mate to have in London.

Last night we went to a bar called “Duckie”. I don’t exactly know where it is, but it was great fun. “Duckie”, as I recall was the word Dudley Butterfield from Number 96 used when addressing most people. “How are you duckie?”, he used to say, as I recall.

The bar also brought back a memory. I saw a bloke there I remember from at least twenty years ago while I was living in Brisbane. I don’t remember his name, and I don’t remember how I met him. But I recognised his face, and I recognised the Mickey Mouse t-shirt that he wore back then, which he was still wearing now.

Apparently most of the shows at Duckie are Arts Council (or similarly) funded, so they often verge on the experimental, which makes for a great fun night out. The music also tends to be a little more cutting edge than you would find in a bar in Sydney. But not inaccessible in any way. In fact, it was music totally targetted towards a similarly aged group of men who like to go out on Saturday night for a laugh.