The Old Rectifying House, Worcester

Weekends are incredibly unfair. You've got 2 days (or 1, usually in my case) to cram everything else but work into; so a night on the town is a privledge and a treat.

I used to study in Worcester, and I forgot how atrocious the nightlife was. I learnt one thing however after I returned from the cash machine waiting to meet someone on a street corner; if you are a woman, dressed in stilettos, standing around on your own, men WILL get the wrong idea. You could look like Hulk Hogan in a dress, and men would still get the wrong idea. Just be very careful, ladies. If a man offers you money, don't go "OOOOoo, thankyou! What's that for??" or ask if the 'For Sale' sign on your car is still there. Run. Run screaming.

Anyways, after I was met by a familar face or two, we found the way (quite a way, I should add...in the wrong part of town) to the wonderful Old Rectifying House (see above). Located in the backdrop of Worcester's St. John's, and right by the river, a fabulously restored...house...for rectifying...something or other. I have no idea what. But anyway, the service is immaculate as soon as you step in. The barman knows his wine. The waitress has.....some idea of the food, but she's awfully lovely anyhoo. But I take my hat off to the chef, who obviously views his food as a art meant to be perfected; with careful musing on textures and flavours, then presenting it all in a superb manner. Top marks. He obviously takes justified pride in his work, and fair play to him. His is also the only chef I have seen incorporate chillies into deserts in a fairly non-controversial menu. He has stuck to a good few 'safe' bets, then gone a bit wild in the menu here and there. There's leffe-battered fish, and seared duck breast, all very well...then in a schizophrenic fit of creativity, throws eye-watering chilli into a cooling desert. He pulled it off marvellously, anyway.
My bill for my meal alone (including drink) was roughly 24 pounds. Pretty darned awesome.

Afterwards, we headed over to the Marrs Bar (its a blues club, not a chocolate), to see the very underrated Joanne Shaw Taylor (http://www.myspace.com/joanneshawtaylor). Think Joss Stone with an electric guitar. I've been hunting for one of her CDs for a year or two. A smokey-voiced girl who's been playing since she was about 12, I'm utterly astounded she's not more well-known. What a great end to the evening.

Sunday saw me being dragged with a friend and her boyfriend to see.....urgh...Adam Sandler's new pitiful attempt at the cinema. He was never funny in the first place. And he's proved me right again. Hideously bad. Again.