There is a bowling alley underneath the Tavistock Hotel, I think that's what the hotel is called.. it's in Tavistock square, you get the tube to Warren Street, if you dare. We went there on the weekend from Jo's house, which is in Whitechapel. The Hammersmith and City line was out so we had to get the district line to Bank then change to the Central line and then change at Holborn again to the Picadilly line, so we were 30 minutes late.

The bowling alley is underneath the hotel in a converted car park. The Bloomsbury Bowling Alley. Caroline liked the place because it couldn't decide if it was a bowling alley, a 50's diner or a bar. (They also have karoke booths, Caroline.) I had met the owner once before and thought he was lovely (I had dreams of dating a man who ran an underground bowling alley), but this time he was a total prick so we blew him off and danced to the Eagles without shoes on.

They serve all kinds of cocktails, which Caroline was sampling, Jo and I stuck to beers from South America and Portugal... Bring on the Quilmes!

The bowling alleys are a little too short and without much arm swinging room. I was worried I would injure fellow bowlers or a dancer. My bowling style is getting less eccentric I was told. Damn short bowling alleys, and nasty boys what are they good for... should have kept it an underground car park.

On the way home we got hot chips and falafels from the man who sells cocaine, we knocked for the boys next door to come over and try to impress us. Which they did. We listened to Joni Mitchell and had more fun than at the bowling alley.