Helsinki Saturday

Moderately quick update, although I'm in no rush really. You find me once again in the pleasantly melodic surrounds of mbar, where only the hip and achingly beautiful are allowed in (actually, everyone's allowed in, but if you carefully jerk your head around so you only see the hip and beautiful ones the effect is much the same...sorry just distracted by a Spaniardess...)

I had a very random end to the week - work wrapped up pretty nicely, so feeling positive about that, and given many of my Helsinki-based chums are still on their holidays, I had to make my own entertainment. I improvised quite well by cruising a load of bars, and as such can now give a thorough rundown of options in central Helsinki. Ok, 3 of them - there are loads more, but these are pretty visible.

The Club - top marks for generic naming ("A Club" would have been even better). Entry fee: nowt, at least when I went in. Mind you, I was the oldest in the place by probably 15 years. The girl I got talking to asked me my age almost straight away...for the first time ever, I lied and said I was 30 - dear reader, I had no designs on her, I simply didn't think she could handle the fact that I was over 30. It was pleasant enough, watching her friend get wasted and throw herself at everyone, and my interlocutor become more and more irrational as she veered erratically through the dangerous terrain of breaking up with her boyfriend (he dumped her by text message - I mean , honestly) equipped only with the last shreds of her sobriety and a scant grasp of English. Ultimately, as she tried to drag me into the smoking chamber for the second time, I made my excuses and left.

Fever - just up the road, 5 euros in. It promises much from outside - big super-clubby type facade. It is only a facade. The internals are clearly straight from a pub which was refitted on the cheap. However, it has a certain charm. Part of it is definitely that it seems as if the clientele have just been dragged from a dozen different places and thrown together (the Crasher kid wearing neon and off her nut, the glam girls looking confused, the ubiquitous Goths), but mainly it's the details - the middle Eastern chap whose pulling technique consisted of dancing near girls with his arms raised like he was about to do a heron kick, with a pint of lager on his head. He was very good at this, and while he struck out a couple of times, it did seem like it worked, with a girl apparently consenting to become not only his paramour, but also his apprentice. The remainder of the cabaret was provided by a pepperpot type lady, in a bestish sort of frock - she looked completely out of place as she tottered between dance floor and bar. Oh yes, and she was blind, complete with stick. She seemed happy enough, but she couldn't see the fact she was being steered around broken glass and ice cubes and extravagant dance moves that were on the point of clotheslining her were hastily taken out of her path. Mind you, the rampant entertainment did enable me to strike up a conversation with the lovely Livia (Olivia?) and Patricia (they were both lovely) - a Spaniard and a Catalonian (one has to be so careful these days) on a big trip around Finland, Russia and Estonia. God Speed, Vaya con Dios, etc.

Last up - Lux, 8 euros in. The most expensive, and you can see where the money goes. Very slick - the first room you get into is a bit sterile, lovely bars mind; also the music in here is cheese-tastic. Whitney Houston, 60s, Grease....the sort of stuff you've got to be mortalled to get anywhere near. BUT if you go downstairs a bit (it's a rooftop club) you get to the proper stuff. Decent mainstream hip hop nonsense or you can sit outside and listen to Russians. Plus I tried to flirt outrageously with the most attractive glassee I´ve ever seen. Even to the point of collecting some glasses. However she was too professional and I was losing my objectivity so we retired to safe distances. All in all, a bizarre night with no achievements at all. Thank Christ for blogging, at least that might capture a scintilla of value out of the whole messy, ugly endeavour.

Today! Job #1 - find gift for father's birthday, post to France. Not quite as easy as I'd hoped as Finnish shops don't seem to stock any half-decent wallets. Very poor selection - I must survey my Finnish acquantainces to see what the hell they use. Rubber bands? Leathern drawstring purses affixed to the waistband of their gaskins? Elaborate electrum, pewter and tourmaline money clips? We shall see. Anyway, found an example which floats my boat (at Stockmann, where else) and duly despatched it. Very reasonable, and the post office even stocks chi chi designer shipping boxes. Success. Lunch at a terrace bar callled Strindberg on the Esplanade - unexceptional beer and sandwich at slightly elevated prices, but it's a nice place to absorb the watery sunshine, so hey. I found a rumoured bike hire shop (let the rumours cease forthwith - it is greenbike.fi and may be found on Albertinkatu just off Bulevardi. The curmudgeonly but efficient proprietor hooked me up with a sweet single speed Monark road warrior. A dog of a bike, but I was feeling masochistic. The place closes at 8pm, and rental is a flat day rate so get their early if you're feeling thrifty. 20 euros for a 3 speed, 15 for a puppy like mine. We became fast friends - ok maybe not that fast, but there's some satisfaction at overtaking people on such a beast on both flats and hills. Got lost, went round in circles, usual sort of Sleath fare, oh, stumbled across a dressage competition (that makes it sound a bit like bare knuckle boxing or a dog fight - I'm pretty sure it was above board, but the prospect of Underworld villains turning to unlicensed dressage to turn a few quid has a distinct appeal).

My trusty steed and I then went to the swimming stadium - I left her outside grazing while I dragged myself a kilometre through the water. Whatever I do, it can definitely not be described as "frontcrawl". Frontflail, perhaps.

That's all she wrote for the day, and I suspect it's not going to be a long night. Sleepy. Might go and see what Forbidden Kingdom is like - the film that is, not the Kingdom. Tomorrow is Big Run Day, although will be taking it steady as the achilles tendon is definitely letting me know it exists, if not actively complaining at me that I never listen to its needs.

That wasn't quick at all - Sleath, you fibber.