I met A for an impromptu get together at Trader Vic’s, the tiki bar chain, under The Hilton hotel on Park Lane. Whilst it seems strange, even slightly vulgar to seek out a bar in one of London’s most expensive and ugly hotels, and bearing in mind I won’t generally support chain pubs/bars of any kind, a tiki bar’s a tiki bar and once downstairs, you can forget about your location all together.
It’s not a tiki bar in the retro sense. The lowish lighting is fine but whilst the excellent drinks are varied, outrageous, and served in a host of great tiki mugs and glasses with often bizarre decoration (full sized wooden bird on a stick in your drink, Sir?), the place is slightly over the top and exactly like the one we visited in Berlin earlier in the year. A huge canoe dominates the ceiling and the central bar has huge bamboo poles supposedly holing it in place from the outer sides of the room, but the music is not traditional exotica, and it was basically full of hotel guests as opposed to tiki fans or hipsters. Still, we weren’t there for a party and, sat opposite each other at a table for two, it was a great way to spend the evening.
And it dawned on us what a special evening it was soon after… I met A at a Morrissey / Smiths disco I organised in Camden Town ten years ago. Wow. Ten years and I’m still listening to the same music. I was nineteen and A had heard about it somewhere (I can’t think where – I don’t know where I advertised) and came along with her friend and housemate Michelle. Yes, the same Michelle that recently lived with me. Do you see how the picture fits together? So, I met A for the first time that evening in 1996 at about nine O’clock. We’ve been thinking of the date that party was held. It was in August, ten years ago, and we both agreed it was the 19th. We were sat together, by pure coincidence, a decade after we first met – to the hour.
To celebrate this incredible fact we went next door to the Dorchester to celebrate with a glass of champagne. Somewhat flash, I know, but A has been my best friend for all that time (apart from the bit right at the start when she was my girlfriend but we laugh about that now. Well, she probably does, I’m still crying myself to sleep) and that’s quite something. Ten years is more than a third of our lives and it’s amazing to think that despite all the changes that have happened in our lives individually, we’re still as close as we ever were, we’ve never really drifted at all, and I personally my affection for her has remained completely constant. It’s a really, really solid friendship. Perhaps even rarely solid – I hope most people benefit from a similar relationship with someone but perhaps not all that many do. It can’t be too rare, but perhaps not common enough, for people to meet someone as a teenager and still be best friends with them a decade on, as a withered and cynical adult, surely?
Anyway, The Dorchester’s bar is a bit rubbish, despite just having a complete makeover. Last time I was here it was all blues and creams if I remember but now it’s dark, with brown leather, red and black lights, and red neon tubes set into wood. Very 1991. Or 1992. Or 1995. I don’t know what happened in individual years, I’m not Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen or however you spell him. But it’s a bit of a let down anyway – hideously expensive too. But no matter, I’m very glad we went, because it was a rare treat to be able to toast ourselves and celebrate these ten years. You get to know quite a bit about a person in ten years and this knowledge, in this case anyway, means we’re always so relaxed in each other’s company and can pepper pretty much any conversation with in-jokes, some of which are years old.
It was also quite pleasant to at least, on my part, pretend that we’ve made astonishing progress over those ten years, having met in a Camden Pub (The Lock Tavern, which is very fashionable now and owned by the radio presenter Sara Cox but wasn’t then) to sitting in The Dorchester sipping champagne. It was interesting to notice how A hasn’t really changed that much facially, but I have. Well she’s not put on weight and I have, that’s probably the crux of the matter, I doubt it’s all genes.
Huh. Ten years, indeed. I suppose that pales into insignificance when you hear of people celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary but it’s still a long time. I don’t really keep in touch with anyone from school, and those I do know of I see annually, if that, so A really is my nearest and dearest. And doing very well for herself, I’m very proud.
We said our goodbye’s outside the hotel and she cabbed off into the night whilst I walked through Mayfair to a nightclub Wade was playing records at, the name of which escapes me, but was interesting and had the best toilets in the world. You go up this white staircase into a gallery area bathed in soft red light. In this huge space there are maybe two dozen huge white eggs, which on closer examination you notice have handles, and you open them to reveal a self contained toilet. The huge room looks as if it’s home to a secret nest of aliens, and I rather liked it. It’s odd how some people choose to spend their money though, don’t you think? “£750,000 on the egg toilets in a huge red-let gallery? Yup – go for it. What else am I going to spend it on?�
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