Recurring nightmare

It had been precisely two weeks since the thieves broken into Hubbie’s office. And they came back again last night. They tried to take one of our Macs.

But this time, it didn’t go according to their plan…

They were in for a (nasty) surprise. All the Macs were secured to each desk with computer locks, and they remained on the desks. Out of the desperation, they dragged one of the desks to the door but gave up in the end and fled.

Later on, our office neighbours, who lived upstairs and alerted the police, came to see us and recounted how the incident unfolded last night. ‘This time, they rammed the door with their moped!’ Despite the door being fortified with metal plates and additional locks, the thugs bursted it open in less than a minute.

The landlord visited the office in mid-morning, looking vidibly guilt-ridden. ‘We can not come back here until a proper steel door and additional security features such as window grills and more effective alarm system are in place.’ We all agreed.

So we moved all the Macs to my home sweet home again…

Ugh, I am not a sort of girl who lives in pyjama bottoms at home, but living side by side with the actual working office won’t be easy for anyone, will it? No more lying in or walking around the flat in my sports bra and bike shorts after my morning exercise.

Having said that, I do want the office to be properly burglar-proofed with beefed-up security so I can sleep soundly every night.

May be we should have had an Alsatian instead of a Yorkie…

Bella, you are too burglar-friendly…

Kaori by Kaori Okumura

 

Oh boy

I’m just not in the mood to do blogging right now even though I have an ample time to do so. Do you wanna know why I’m so unmotivated?

Hubbie’s office was broken in last night.

I was absolutely gobsmacked when Hubbie phoned me this morning from a front door of his office. He arrived at the door and saw a substantial damage on it with a huge padlock dangling from it…

This was what the police attached in order to secure the door.

Our neighbours, who lived above our office and reported the commotion to the police last night, saw two motorbikes and four guys speeding away from the street.

The actual damage, apart from the front door, was his five Macs. The thieves yanked them off from the desks and took them away. Luckily, they didn’t take any servers or cameras, therefore, they didn’t clean us out.

If you see this mark on your window or door, clean it right away!

A guy from another office on the same street had paid a visit to us and pointed out that the mark on our window was the same one which was left on his basement window. He claimed that the mark was a sign left by street criminals for members of local burglars so they would know which property to break in. And this particular one indicated which business premises had Macs in their office!

Our landlord came with a team of builders later so they could secure the front door. Their electric drill made a loud noise, and poor Bella was freaking out.

I don’t know when I feel like getting back to chronicling my road trip yet. I would like to but feel a bit too distracted…

You know what I mean…

The criminals made such a mess on my desk, and I am too depressed to sort it out right now… 😦

Sushi feast @ LIFE, Old Street

Hubbie called me up from the office, ‘Fancy a slap up meal tonight?’
A tasty olive branch to cement our reconciliation. Of course, I was up for it.
Hmmm… What do I fancy?… SUSHI! Sushi rolls, that what I want!!
He came home just before 7pm.
And we walk to our local Japanese eatery, LIFE in Cleekenwell…

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It had been quite a while since I ate sushi last time.
Come to think of it, the last sushi dinner was at here with Hubbie. Then, I remembered the disturbing incident we witnessed that night…

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Out of the blue, two Arab guys with an armful of Big Issue magazines marched into the restaurant and started to thrust a magazine into the diner’s faces, asking for a donation.
All of us, including the staff, were gobsmacked and literally frozen like a rabbit in the headlamp. Then, the staff made a move to coax them out of the premise, the Arabs suddenly slipped out of the door and vanished into the dark.
We looked at each other, trying to comprehend what it was all about.
Then, a fellow diner started to sob, ‘They took my phone!’
While one of the Arab distracted us with the magazine, his accomplice stole her phone which was left on the table.  We were astonished by their daring operation!
Since then, I stopped leaving a phone on display at restaurants even if I was at the table…

Recounting the incident, we sipped Oolong Hai – unsweetened Shochu cocktail with Chinese tea…

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My appetizer was brought to the table…

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Marinade of shredded red cabbage with blue berries.

We opted not to have any starter. Instead we dove into a sushi feast head-on!
The firs sushi t to arrive were Vegetable California Roll and Salmon & Avocado Roll…

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I was shaking my head with delight. Oh! I was in seventh heaven…

Then, Spider Roll, Prawn Tempura Roll and  California Roll…

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Followed by another Vegetable California Roll, Eel & Avocado Roll and Philadelphia & Salmon Roll…

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By the end of the meal, we were utterly stuffed.
There was no room left, even for ice cream. So we left the restaurant, rubbing our tummies. I had to walk really slowly because I was almost bursting with sushi…

Kaori by Kaori Okumura

Shoryu @ Lower Regent St

Hubbie doesn’t like noodle, especially, noodle soups.
His reasoning is that he makes a mess with chopsticks and a slippery noodle.
“Practice makes perfect” is my advice. But he is adamant that there are better things to do in life. C’est la vie…

Therefore, when an acute noodle craving plagues me, the person I turn to is not Hubbie but my good old friend, Fei.

There are more than a few noodle bars in London nowadays, thanks to the Ramen boom in NYC which has leaped across the Pond and ignited a lively interest in this particular Japanese cuisine.
Ramen always existed within the menu of Japanese restaurants in London. However, it was just as one dish amongst many, never featured or specialised.
Then, the hype took hold of the city, and Ittenbari on Brewer St, Tonkotsu on Dean St, Bone Daddies on Peter St…etc, sprouted with a vigour in a very short space of time.

Shoryu, where we visited on that fateful Wednesday, was one of those Ramen boomers.
My apology for not having any images of the interior. The restaurant was already full of diners and I found rather awkward to point my iPhone at them.

We ordered a starter each and shared them.
Gyoza dumplings…

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& Tori no karaage – Japanese style fried chicken…

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Both of them were perfectly ok.
We found the fried chicken especially  moreish.
The accompanying Japanese style mayonnaise had a sprinkle of Ichimi chilli pepper which added a kick to those crispy and succulent morsels.
To be an extra critical, I found the Gyoza a tad on the thin side.
The skin lacked the texture and the filling was a little bland. They could do better than this, I thought.

Here comes the piéce de resistance, my Kara Tantan Tonkotsu ramen!
It had spicy fried minced pork topping with miso flavoured soup…

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The soup was flavoursome without being too sharp.
The miso’s saltiness was moderated by the rich flavour of Tonkotsu – pork based broth.
When it comes down to the noodle itself, I am not a ramen connoisseur, therefore I cannot evaluate it properly.
The texture of the noodle was just right for me, not too soft nor too hard. Comparing with the papery yellow strings I encountered in Chinatown, Shoryu’s noodle was in a different league. That was for sure.
My verdict regarding Shoryu was a 5 out of 5. The service was swift and pleasant. And the atmosphere was lively and comfortable. I will definitely visit them again.

After dinner, we sauntered towards Piccadilly.
The air was balmy and everything looked perfect. I did not have a care in the world.
We sat outside at Cafe Concerto and marvelled at the beauty of London summer…

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It was more than a month since we met each other last time.
So we carried on chatting over Black Forest gateau & latte.

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Then, a tragedy struck. I discovered that my wallet was no longer there in my bag!
The frantic fingers rummaged through the inside in vain. But alas, no success. How could this happen?!  I was dumbfounded.
The rest of this sorry saga is logged in my past entry. Please read it if you care.
It was last Wednesday and I have since recovered.
I have ordered three mean looking wallet chains which I intend to attach to each bag.
Pickpockets will have a nasty surprise next time they pounce on me…

Hate To Be Cherry Picked

Yippee! I’ve got a front row seat in the upper deck!
With a panoramic view of London at hand, the journey by bus becomes so much more agreeable.
Even though it was around 5pm, the late afternoon sun was surprisingly zesty and scorching my bare thighs through the window shield…

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The No.19 double decker  trundled through the West End traffic, heading towards Cambridge Circus…

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A rickshaw on Shaftesbury Avenue.
I was behind one of those years ago. It was a rather slow and dusty journey. Not recommendable…

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Just take a look how Piccadilly Circus was swamped by people!
Where do they all come from, I wonder…

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How could I imagine that I would be a victim of pick-pocketing in a few hours time when I was taking the snap from the bus?
It’s a second time that my wallet was stolen at Piccadilly Circus!
It was done ever so professionally that I didn’t realise what happened on my wallet until I rampaged the inside of my Vanessa Bruno tote at Cafe Concerto on Piccadilly.
What’s happening ??? Where is my wallet???
I was out with a friend for dinner. We were enjoying dessert & chat.
We hurried back to the restaurant on Lower Regent Street to check if I left the wallet there.
Then, I encountered a guy on Jermyn Street.
He grinned at me knowingly when I walked past him. It was definitely not a friendly smile but more like sniggering…
At the restaurant, we didn’t find anything.
Crest fallen, we trudged back toward Piccadilly Circus. Then, I bumped into him again. What is he doing here? Loitering? The oddity really struck me.

I bade farewell to my friend and made my way to the police Station on Savile Row.
A bored looking clerk took my detail and handed me a slip of paper.
Then, I phoned my bank and Hubbie.
So that’s it then. Just like that.
I didn’t know what to think…

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