Gay Camberwell

By Layla


You may have noticed my bad behaviour in delegating blog writing to Roz of late. It has taken procrastination over a rather dull essay entitled 'User Charges in Healthcare' to drag me to the computer at last, but never mind the reason; here I am. 

I have been enjoying the snow. Perhaps not the slippery progress I've been making across Camberwell Green every day (though a man with a wheelbarrow full of grit managed to throw some in my face last night, so presumably they've finally realised people like to use it as a thoroughfare without skating to their death on icy paths, and thought they'd sprinkle their last bit of grit in SE5 once they'd ensured the more important parts of Southwark were rendered safe)... no, what I've been enjoying are:

1. African adults who seem to never have seen snow before, cavorting, giggling, spinning, sticking out their tongues to catch flakes, and making their first snowman attempts on Camberwell Green.

2. Smugly living AND working in Camberwell, and thus managing the 5 minute walk to and from work without the angst that befalls all my colleagues who claim three hour journeys of hell twice a day (though I cannot justify leaving mid-afternoon as they do, which is less good).

3. Hearing about the delights of the Camberwell Church Street Hotel (apparently it's wonderful) from a colleague who's been unable to get home for days (or that's his excuse). Apparently the homemade bread, eggs, and danish pastries get dull after a week, but frankly I'm unsympathetic. 


4. Socialising exclusively in Camberwell, in order to avoid cold and slippery trips home in the dark. Angels and Gypsies was completely full last night with people waiting for seats. Quality and service brilliant - best tapas restaurant in London. Caravaggio's was quieter when I was there on Wednesday, but the food and service was also great. Camberwell Church Street is turning into a gastronomic mecca.


5. Sniggering at Londoners' response to a sprinkling of snow and making smug comments about Scotland's hardier character in the face of winter. 


6. Purchasing Roz's mother's birthday presents in the pound shops of Denmark Hill.


7. Desperately planning a holiday in the sun.

By Roz.

I can’t quite manage to get over the amusingly futuristic sound of 2010.  But perhaps that’s because I’m feeling old.  A couple of nights ago we went to the Last Tuesday Society’s masked ball in the vaults of London Bridge and I realised, as I wandered around and observed a number of naked men that many, many years have passed since I was at an event where nudity did not result in being escorted from the building. Then, last night, whilst cooking dinner, I caught a little of Front Row, which featured a number of young women playwrights.  I happily assumed that young meant my age…until one mentioned being born in the nineties.  Alas.  Mind you, I don’t really feel that the lack of naked men has diminished my life (it’s harder to reconcile myself to not being a successful 19 year-old playwright).

As anticipated, we went to Angels and Gypsies on New Year’s Eve, prior to heading into Shoreditch for our 1920s party.  Angels and Gypsies is going from strength to strength with new additions to their menu (for the first time in 2009 Layla turned down dessert so that she could order another savoury item - the pan tomacia which was truly wonderful) and even more attentive service.  If you haven’t been yet, do so immediately! 

Earlier in the week, we headed into the depths of the north to see La Clique.  I’ve seen many of the performers before (since lots of them have been regulars at Queer Up North, which I have been involved with for a couple of years).  But it was quite remarkable to see them in such a large venue and with such an enthusiastic reception (from the mainly straight audience).  Ursula Martinez was fabulous as she always is (and will be bringing her new show (which previewed in Manchester last year) My Stories, Your Emails to the Barbican shortly).  Despite having seen her famous magic striptease a number of times, I remain absolutely bemused about how she does it…  And it’s worth going to La Clique for that alone. 

Dear me, this was supposed to be a blog about 2010 and not about nudity.  Alas too late now.  But to put your minds at rest, I should say that not only did Layla and I both keep our clothes on whilst at the masked ball, but it’s most certainly my new year’s resolution to continue doing so at all public events.  At least until I learn how to hide a red handkerchief in exciting places.