This Is Not A Democracy

So, today, I left work at lunchtime to go and see Iko open at the Garage in Highbury.

Julie and I had planned to head into Camden to pick up some bits and pieces for Pride, tomorrow, and then found we had some time to kill, so we hopped on a bus to Baker Street in order to geek out. We didn't stay long; took a couple of pictures and filed it away for the fangirl meet up, which was at that time scheduled for January, rather than November. I'll bitch about this separately.

Anyway, we stopped by Baker Street, went to Covent Garden for very poor noms in Wagamama's and then went to Highbury on the Tube.

While standing outside the venue, I got a text from Kieran (my friend, and singer of the band we were going to see) telling me they had been stuck in traffic for two hours travelling up from Devon and were only on the edge of London. As the first band on, they were needed on stage in under forty-five minutes. We paid and went in anyway, thinking they'd scrape in under the wire, and were joined after a few minutes by Kieran's school friend, Chris. We sat and chatted for a while, occasionally receiving texts on their progress until the dreadful statement arrived telling us that the the poor, overworked vehicle they'd driven up in had killed its clutch and died. They were now stranded in Euston, waiting for the recovery vehicle.

The three of us pondered this for a while, before deciding, "Fuck it - we should at least go and find them, it's only two stops away," so we got our money back (no, we couldn't believe it, either) and headed down to Euston. Once out of the station, we used our cunning powers of deduction to decide that if the car was broken down, they'd want to be on one of the residential side streets, not the middle of the Euston Road, so we headed that way.

A couple of turns later Julie let out a sudden, "ROSIE!" and I assumed she was pointing out the white transit van down the street, and then I saw what it was parked in front of.

What you are about to see is dead serious. We did not know this was here, and in fact didn't even believe the frontage was real; just a set. However, ladies and gentlemen, of all the side streets in London we could have stumbled into, we stumbled here:



YES. That is what you think it is. That is the door they use for 221b Baker Street in the new Sherlock series.




Chris kindly took a picture of us both outside it, but I won't post that because we look about double our normal weights in it. We then flagged down a taxi and travelled the mile or so down the Euston Road to what was definitely not Euston, and found Kieran, Neil and Ben glumly waiting to be collected.

For those who disbelieve this series of events, here is a photo of the car being picked up:



This was truly the biggest and most hilarious fluke imaginable. I truly thought this part of the set was in Wales. When we do our January Sherlock moot everyone else can have a pic, too.


ETA: I almost forgot this sign, at the real Baker Street:



MOFFATT ASSOCIATES
Catalysts for Change

Well, quite.

Check out this dude's name! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

( Permanent and Honourary Members )

lordgroovius, on Twitter: I let a member drive me home.
Me: I just had a really hilarious mental image of a huge penis at the wheel of a car. [explains to Julie]
Julie: [mimicking the giant, driving penis] So, come here often?
Me: [dies]
Julie: [mortified] OH! No pun in... d'awwww... [facepalms]

The Cab plan to cover Queen at the Hoodwink Festival.

Brb need to go laugh until I puke.

Me, scrolling through Sky TV Guide. The following conversation occured:

Me: 'British Sex'? BRITISH SEX? WTF, how are we different to anyone else?
Irish BFF: You're more polite about it? You queue? There's more tea involved?