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A night out in Soho

I went out for the first time in a long time in London’s Soho last night.

Things have changed.

We went to a bar in a basement, by the time we arrived it was pretty crowded. Everyone there was sporting thick framed glasses and hipster fluff on their faces. The men were squeezed into shirt and trouser combinations that appeared custom tailored for cutting off the circulation in their arms and legs at the same time. Perhaps it’s a new way of getting hi that I have yet to discover.

We drank Old Fashioneds and spoke about the Cross Rail (whatever that is). The cocktails were served in teapots. People took great pains to avoid touching anyone, something increasingly difficult to achieve as the night wore on. When I needed the restroom the merest touch of a person was enough to send them spinning away from me as if I was armed with Ebola. So different to the touchy feely, or pushy feely Israelis I’ve come to know and love.

We moved on to a posh restaurant that tries its best to play itself down. The women in the room had half the hair on their heads shaved off in some strange new style I’ve never heard of. The food was okay, the wine was better.

I’ll feel a lot better when my wife is able to be here with me.

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