Sunday, 4th June.
Iced Denzil

An Australian, a New Zealander, and a South African walk into a cafe. No, really, we did. After church today we wandered down to Fulham Broadway to hang out. (Did you know...that if you go into any McDonald's "restaurant" of a Sunday evening you will find at least one church group in there?)

Cara and Torsten had iced coffees, and I ordered an iced chocolate. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Cara and Torsten received their drinks, and I noticed that there was some animated conversation going on at the bar, and some worried looks in my direction. The waitress then brought my drink over.

Well apparently an iced chocolate in London is not the same as the Universal Iced Chocolate that you'll receive if you go into any cafe in any part of Australia. They'd mixed some drinking chocolate with some milk and water and chucked some ice in. The waitress asked me if it was ok, I said it was a little bit different to what I expected, and then the bloke who made my drink came over. (What is his title? He ain't a chef, is he called a coffee-maker? Or what?) Anyway, he came over and said something about preparing it in a shaker, and I quite frankly couldn't care less by this stage, and refrained from explaining to them how to make an iced chocolate.

Somewhere along the line, everyone at the Dawes Road Palace started calling each other "Denzel". Don't ask me why. Jules and I were sitting in the living room, and Mox walked in. "Denzel" said Jules. "Derek" said Mox. But Denzel has come to be more than just a name. "What the Denzel do you think you're doing?" "Stop Denziling about." "Mate, what a Denzel!" "Do I look like Kevin Denzil to you?"

So later in the evening "Don't Call Me Baby" came on the radio, and Jules turned it up. We were singing along, and Mox sarcastically called down from his room "Is that Madison Avenue performing in our house?" Cheeky bastard. I'm a Very Talented Singer. When the next chorus came on Mox sang out: "Don't call me Denzel".