It was mine and Jakes lucky day.

We were expecting a visit from none other than Lucy, who was making the long treacherous journey from Bournemouth to London.

She made it safely, praise be to God. These are dangerous times.

And thus we had to consider what to with our day. We all like drinking, and we all like strange things. So something that covered one of the two would be ideal.

I looked up ‘weird things to do in London’ on the internet, and began to peruse.

There were a number of activities of interest. Some looked good, some not so good.

But the one thing that covered both the oddity factor and the drinking aspect was the Ice Bar. What a great idea. We booked a slot, had a glass of wine, then headed to town.

It was pretty cold in the ice bar. Mainly because it was made of ice. But they gave us big coats to keep us warm and some silly ski gloves. You could pretend to be an intrepid explorer that has fallen into a mysterious crevasse, only to find a magical drinking palace made by yetis for yetis.


We picked up some cocktails which were ok, but a bit standard, and wandered around.

We put our hands on the walls, stuck our faces in the pineapple.


We tried to break a few pieces of ice furniture, but it was really solid so we failed. And then we sat in the ice truck to gather our thoughts.

Some kind peoplefolk offered to take a picture of us in the truck, but they only took a bloody selfie!

Silly peoplefolk.


By this time it was getting chilly, so we grabbed another cocktail. Everyone was being forced to leave but of course we malingered as long as possible. I had a conversation about the flavour of my cocktail with the barman. I said it was too sweet so he put some non-sweet stuff in.

Once given something, you can usually get more things. So I asked for some bourbon. And he topped me up! This was the point I officially decided the Ice Bar was EXCELLENT. So excellent in fact I tried to steal my ice glass on the way out, but I got caught. They took my ice glass out of my grip with disappointment in their eyes. But I don’t see why. It was only water. Hard cold dangerous water.

Strolling in London town we wandered through a church that had beautiful orchestral notes drifting out of it. We peeked inside and saw a mini orchestra, rehearsing for the evening to come.

We slid into the pews and sat for an hour. Gently absorbing the intricately placed notes as the warmth of our cocktails washed through our bodies and cleared our frosty winter minds.

Sitting in a 19th Century Church, wrapped in winter coats. Our own private orchestra.

It was magical.


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