The Port House, 16th April

I have a tendency to walk past places I think look nice and then put them on my List so I don’t forget to investigate them. When I came across The Port House on the Strand, I made a note of it because port is a favourite drink of Stephen’s. As it happens, when I finally went I didn’t take Stephen and didn’t drink any port.

Instead I went for a (very) light bite with my mum before we watched the five-star show Gypsy.

I walked in and was quite enchanted by the place. It feels like walking into a cellar or cave – in a good way. It is extremely dark and cosy with candlelight. It would make a really good romantic meal. I had expected to waltz in at 6:15 and get a table but it must get a lot of pre-theatre business as the place was pretty much full.

My mum doesn’t eat very much these days so we only ordered three dishes to share between us (and I ate most of those). Luckily I had had a snack beforehand. We got the confitado de pato and patatas bravas con alioli and, because we felt we should have some vegetables, the pisto – diced, slow cooked vegetables with oregano, paprika and olive oil with a fried egg on top instead of manchego. The dishes were a bit hit and miss. The vegetables were really just a slightly watery ratatouille which an egg on top didn’t make particularly interesting.

The duck confit leg was delicious, as duck is wont to be. The membrillo sauce it was served with was a nice, sweet contrast.

The patatas bravas were decent – I didn’t think the ‘fiery’ tomato sauce was particularly hot but the garlic mayo was definitely garlicky and I liked them.

Everything is around the £4 or £5 mark and I think you get a decent portions for this. We also had a glass of very nice red wine.

Sadly, that’s all I had so I don’t know what their pintxos or other, more interesting dishes were like. I would like to go back to give a broader, perhaps fairer review but there are so many places to get to, a repeat visit is low on my priorities. I would definitely say, nip in and if there’s a free table/seat at the bar, stay a while with a nice glass of wine and give it a try. There could be some nice surprises on the menu.

The Coal Hole, 16th March

I had forgotten I had this on my List when I picked it as a place to meet before going to the Last Tuesday Society ball! So I didn't take as much note about it as I should have.

I had trepidations about meeting here as someone told me it was small but I hoped it might be able to squeeze us in. I needn’t have worried. Even though I turned up at about half seven, once I made my way through the scrum at the door there was quite an empty space behind the bar. The pub itself was larger than I expected but had the ‘pub’ feel I was expecting.

The Coal Hole made it onto my List for its historical merits – a place where Gilbert & Sullivan used to perform and where the Shakespearean actor started a society for oppressed husbands called the Wolves’ Club. And it felt like a traditional public house. Mostly. Once the football crowd had disappeared. It's an attractive place from the outside and the inside continues this, it has a woody feel to it yet more polished.

I had a glass of wine or two, but they were bought for me so I can’t comment on the cost. I believe a bottle of house was £18 which is not unreasonable, though wasn’t my favourite white wine ever.

My friends noted a more than a pleasing number of men fair of face.

So yes, well worth keeping a note of this place if you want a boozer and you’re on the Strand. Nothing about it really stands out to wax lyrical about but neither does anything stand out to bemoan. 

Last Tuesday Society, 16th March

The Last Tuesday Society's masked Orphanage ball is a rather spiffing, titillating way to spend an evening. The dress code is masks mandatory, clothing optional, although it is a ball, dahling, so they do expect you to make an effort.

I slightly butchered a bridesmaid's dress I had to make it even more flouncy and fanciful and of course I shopped very carefully for the mask to accompany it. If you turn up without one, they slap you with a ten pound "fine" which then gets you a mask for the evening.

Once you're in you are allowed to remove it, which is handy as there's a lot to see and do and sometimes a mask can rather obscure your view.

This night took place in one of their regular haunts - the members' club on Adam Street. You descend some stairs to find a chocolate fountain gushing in a corner, a room with a bar for dancing and mingling, an adjacent room where there is a DJ (who was blasting the finest in classical music when we arrived) for more dancing, a smaller room where the "menagerie" was housed, and then a room in which "instruments of torture" were available for anyone to have a play, as well as a cage.

Downstairs was where the dance lesson took place (that I missed out on) and where you could get portions of borscht, pickled vegetables and Russian (I'm guessing) pastries. When I went by to get myself a snack the borscht was still being warmed, not ready for another ten minutes and I'm sad to say I didn't remember to go back and get some. No matter, I certainly made the most of the chocolate fountain and I was very impressed wiht the dipping selection - marshmallows, fruit and best of all pretzels and little biscuits from which you could make your very own Flipz and choccy digestives. Amazing. I made a bit of a glutton of myself, which proved somewhat embarrassing when I then went into the menagerie to have a stroke and a play with the beasties in there.

Someone making friends with one of the snakes

Being passed around the room were two lizards, two snakes and a hairy tarantula. I stayed well away from that but had a pet of one of the lizards - letting it stalk across my hand a couple of times before it was claimed back by the guy who'd grown attached to it, and I was completely charmed by one of the snakes. Someone chose to turn the lights out and when they came back on, my friend alerted me to something nasty-looking on my hand. Yes, snake poo. Actually, no, not snake poo. To my shame, it was chocolate from the fountain all over my hand. Wresting myself from the entrancement of the snake wending it's way around we went over to the next room and had a play around in the cage, posing like pent-up prisoners.

The torture playthings were rather basic - anyone who's been to Antichrist or Torture Garden I'm sure would consider them rather tame, if not lame, but the crowd at this place weren't hardcore S & Mers and the 'toys' did what they were supposed to do - provided a frisson of eroticism to the night. One contraption required you to kneel into it so that your posterior was exposed, all the better for a light spanking. The other was an X-frame that you were strapped into while the "punisher" spanked you with hand, or with cane. I didn't get trussed up myself, but my friend had a whale of a time on it. I was given a couple of cheeky whacks with the cane afterwards. It was up to you how man-handled you wanted to be and how much sting you wanted to feel - your bare cheeks could be exposed or you could insist on remaining fully clothed. Naturally bare cheeks added to the thrill of it.

Downstairs there was a band playing gypsy swing, although they also made an appearance upstairs for a while. And the music which took you through to the end of the evening was 50s rock n roll. 

It was definitely something a little different, especially with the animal element. There were a few naked people, as is customary at these things, and though it probably wasn't the most debauched party in the world, it did make you feel a little 'Eyes Wide Shut'. Everyone made an effort, and masks being mandatory gave the party an air of mystery and I daresay relieved people of their inhibitions somewhat. For a little decadence in your life, head to one of these. 

London Cringe, 24th January

The concept is simple and brilliant. People far too generous with their humiliation get on stage and read from their teenage diaries. Or, failing a diary, a poem  from those days when everything was all-too naively from the heart would also do.

It's a hugely popular night, taking place upstairs at The George on the Strand. I got there at 6:30 in order to grab some seats and by 7 if there were a few of you, you'd be struggling to get somewhere to sit together. By the time it started, people were crammed in everywhere even standing somewhat outside the room and peeking in!

And you could see why. It's really up to the reader how much or how little they read and it rather depends on their diary-writing style. The first person to read was the organiser/hostess who treated us to several entries from her "slaggy period" when she was kissing more than one boy, maybe even more than two while simultaneously being in love with several others. Though it's called London Cringe, most of the cringing, it has to be said, is done by the poor fool who is brave enough to share their entires - the rest of the audience mainly falls about with laughter.

Next up was a man who pretty much read us his entire diary for one year. Being male, they were all typically brief and often practical - he made sure to document not only temperatures but the more important world events, juxtaposing them with the even more important events in his personal life, such as what he had for tea. 

We heard about one girl's fashion disasters - after burning a hole in your dress with your iron, no one would make the mistake of doing the same thing with her back up dress would they? Would they? Yes. 

And would you read from a diary in which you ended every entry with "I love Duran Duran"? Except for when, of course, you put it at the beginning of the entry so you don't forget. And then confess to rummaging in your "Duran Duran drawer"? Oh yes, we had an uberfan here. 

One volunteer treated us to her three-part epic poem on the evil seductiveness of drugs, disguised under the analogy of a fairground ride. This was gritty, urban stuff - clearly the work of someone who had lived through it all, could have come from the mean streets of The Wire. Oh the children, the poor, dying children that drugs had under their spell! Which of course meant she came from some quiet country town near Somerset (or similar). Special kudos to this "performer" who, like us, was so struck by the hilarious seriousness of her poem, she could barely recite it through her laughter, but she somehow made it through to the end. 

People are encouraged to sign up in advance to share their teenage worlds, but you can also come along on the night with your diary and let Ana, the host, know you want to get up on stage. In fact, most of the people who read that night were volunteers, as several people were stymied by the snow. 

What all of the excerpts we heard had in common were an innocent earnestness and frankness, which was utterly addictive. I can see why it is so popular. Everyone would love to read another person's diary, get a sneaky look into their lives, but with this event, you can do just that and spare yourself the guilt! 

The next on is March 27th and I can't wait.