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!
Sarah xx
