I write this last blog post somewhat fuzzy headed following a fun filled festive Sunday evening at The Ship. Never disappointed by this South West London Sunday night institution, last night was no exception. A room packed with booze-fuelled 20 somethings dancing on tables, men proving their pull-up prowess on the ceiling beams and Jaeger bombs being sunk quicker than Nigella’s career, the atmosphere was nothing short of electric. Sadly during this debauched twilight hour, my best friend and I fell victims to a common crime in our neck of the woods, compulsive bull-shitting.
Like the mugs that we are, we fell hook, line and sinker for an elaborate rouse by three gentlemen who shall remain nameless. But why shouldn’t we question whether the tall dark handsome one was actually a professional masters winning golfer and his two friends the subsequent agent and manager. People our age don’t make things like this up right? Wrong. And now I can’t rush off and tell my dad he can give up work because his son-in-law to be is a pro-golfer, damn.
Oh how we laughed this morning, and no doubt will do again when we regale our tale of Bridget and Daniel Cleaver fraudulence to our friends over a glass of the world’s most over-priced white wine at the Duke on the Green. Wonderfully, this is one incident of many that make up a patchwork of memories from my years living in Fulham, some fantastic, some better forgotten. It’s with sadness and excitement that come January I will be moving from the lovely leafy suburbs of SW6 to the grittier climes of N1.
With my imminent departure I must apologise for all the night club owners’ hospitality I abused (particularly Embargo), the relentless banging on about supporting our big society and shopping on Wandsworth Bridge Road, the ranting about red trousers and most importantly to the delightful local business owners I never got to meet in person but always promised I would.
Determined not to let mine and Jess’s committed championing of local businesses and community go to waste I will be handing over to a dear friend of mine, Miss Stefanie Morley. A much better writer than myself and a permanent resident in these parts she will keep you abreast of where to eat, drink, get fit, shop and enjoy this beautiful borough.
Goodbye Fulham, it’s been emotional.... Over to you Stef!