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Gordo’s Bits and Bobs

Gordo goes on forever: In the firing line, Simon Rimmer, The Mallonator, Cocoa Rooms (yawn), Cleo and Polly Farnam and Phil ‘n Gail at Radio Manchester. Has Gordo finally lost it? (he lost it thirty years ago – Ed)

Written by . Published on November 3rd 2006.

Gordo’s Bits and Bobs

The Mallonator Goes to Town.

With help from Gordo’s Special (grey haired) Correspondent

As the queues of women grow up here in Manc who are falling for the renowned Mallon reverse psychology pitches, deep meaningful conversations and protestations of celibacy ;-) , word reaches Gordo’s ears of the wannabe Rastafarian visiting the rarefied atmosphere of salon living in Notting Hill, London, to attend a high brow lecture on Lotus Blossom farming courtesy of Gordo’s pal Martin Miller, owner of Millers Gin, at Martin’s latest ruse, Millers Academy.

Mr. Mallon, for those who don’t know, is the owner of the Circle Club, wearer of sandals in the middle of winter, terribly good at selling t-shirts and an ex-kick boxing champion.

Settling into a few dry sherries The Mallonator was eying up the posh totty when a 6’2” cross dresser walked in sporting a Jaeger twin set and pearls (and three days beard growth) whilst, unbeknownst to the genteel gathering, off his tits on horse tranquiliser. He sat down at the lecture table and started to berate the gathering, calling them a “fucking bunch of middle class wankers” and nasty stuff as well. Including the ‘C’ word.

Count Mallon was sat there, cargo pants rustling, thinking that Southerners are a funny bunch when it comes to entertainment; he wasn’t sure if this would go down well back up north. However, he quickly realised that the tranny was actually a mentalist when he smashed a wine glass and started slashing his wrists in front of a crowd rooted to the spot, mouths agog.

Count Mallon and his pal jumped up to sort him out, physically removing him. When they walked back in the great and good of Notting Hill were still sat in their seats having not moved an inch. The ladies, staring at our hero, were starting to feel a warm glow.

Meanwhile, outside, Josephine was getting busy for a second assault. Taking his shoes off, face contorted with rage, he made a frontal attack on the plate glass windows, a lucky strike with the Jimmy Choo (size 11- special purchase) stiletto heels shattering the glass into a million fragments. Gordo would have paid a million quid to see the look on the faces of the assembled middle class Daily Mail readers thinking that their time had come.

Luckily the police arrived at this point and carted Joesephine off to the local nick where they are well versed in sorting loonies out by all accounts.

Count Mallon then found himself on the receiving end of a bunch gushing women, turned on completely by this odd looking bit of rough from up north; Count Mallon, having been rewarded with a cut hand, was allegedly also rewarded with a quick shag later from a grateful lady who considered herself lucky to be alive. “Once one got used to the strange foot odour, he really was rather sweet in a sort of Conan the Barbarian way”, she was alleged to have commented later. “It was rather like, one imagines, being ravaged by an enthusiastic Goth back in Roman times. Albeit not for very long.” Blimey.

Cocoa Rooms

Oh dear, news reaches Gordo that the chefs were told to put their coats on last Thursday. It seems that they have decided to turn the place into a nightclub. The kitchen team were told of the decision when they arrived for work. Generously, management said that they could come back in December for a month to serve the Christmas parties. Apparently Christian Coates, the gaffer, is still have problems removing the ice cream maker from up his arse.

Not much point in listing the telephone number.

£50 Steak found in an Alley

Friday, the week before, finds Gordo dazed and confused sat down for dinner in The Grill on the Alley with Wayne Mellor and girlfriend Dianne. Gordo had been on the Guinness for five hours over the road in The Restaurant Bar and Grill (confusing innit? Try it ratted) with Tom Bloxham up till this point. “What would you like to drink darling?” asks the brick salesman of the lovely, but expensive Dianne. “Pink champagne” comes the reply. Gordo’s ears prick up and he makes a mental note to get off to the toilet when the bill comes. “What would you like to eat darling?” asks Wayne, who hasn’t turned a hair. (that’s because he hasn’t got any – Ed) “The Coby Beef Steak please” comes the reply. This little ouchie is £50 a portion. Gordo sobers up in an instant, wallet preservation mode clicking in, enabling him to plan the escape route in more depth.

The money botherer Chris Rustage then arrives at the table with a smile normally reserved for his old sales prospects and other general victims of life’s rich tapestry. Gordo feels surrounded by obstacles until he sees that Chris is with the lovely Alison, who keeps him in line. Done up to the nines she looked worth buying a £50 steak, but they were leaving. Dianne, bless her, cut off a piece of the steak to let Gordo try it.

It was worth the £50. But Gordo was nowhere to be found when the bill came. The Grill on the Alley now has five good reports out of six. The Rioja was cracking, as was the best end of lamb. Go.

Simon Rimmer opens Earle in Hale

Mr Rimmer, the bad tempered (unless he has a TV camera in front of him) but gifted chef-owner of Greens, the vegetarian restaurant in the poor mans Notting Hill, Didsbury, has opened his carnivorous offering. It’s Earle, in Hale village. Reports needed, but his chef there is Craig Kirk, his second being Alan Ward. Mr. Rimmer appears to be a good trainer, so if the cooking is up to scratch the two chefs will jump up a few rungs on the ladder.

It’s rumoured that Simon’s wife Ali, lovely lady, is going to be front of house.

Send Gordo a report please, it will get you a bottle of champagne. gordo@manchesterconfidential.com

Earle 0161 929 8869

Monday: Numero

Gordo is at Numero, the Italian restaurant at the front of Manchester 235, for a quick test meal; promising. Good ambience, a couple of phenomenal ladies on the front desk and Marco, the gaffer, up to his usual grappa tricks at the end of the meal. Take a tip from Gordo, if you are that desperate for indigestion you can achieve the same result faster (only slightly) by sticking a live sparkler down your throat..

Mind you, the menu is interesting as it has a number of dishes you won’t find outside Italy as well as it’s ‘Classico’ section, including a Filleto Rossini and simple Prosciutto Melone.

The pudds were awesome, we had five between three of us. Marco insisted. Tiramisu Classico better than Piccolinos. Prices are good.

Numero 0161 832 3927

Wednesday: Cloud 23 and Radio Manchester

Gordo kicks off the evening by getting stuck in the lift at his apartment, for three hours. He was on his way to Room Restaurant’s first birthday party. He arrived just in time to be hypnotised by Agent Provocateur’s stripper. You don’t get many of her to the kilo. Couldn’t stay long, but Gordo managed to get an eyeful.

Over to Cloud23 on top of the Hilton. Phil Wood and Gail Sullivan are broadcasting their show on Manchester Radio, 95.1 FM, they want Gordo to comment on the booze up there alongside Jonathan Schofield, Gordo’s pal and food writer for The Evil Empire, aka the MEN. It doesn’t take long for the pavement botherer to start going on about mayonnaise. “Just wrong”, he tells us.

Gordo gets to meet some weird ex public schoolboy from Wales, Peter Orgill, a Manc Botherer. There are three good things about Peter. He is involved in Cord, (leave out the pickled eggs with chillies, on a par with Numero’s grappa) Centro (class afternoon boozer) and the Rampant Lion, which Gordo hasn’t been in since the days of Arnold Berlin when it was the Milverton Lodge. Gordo was eight. That’s a long time ago. There is one really great thing about him. His missus. Jane. What a bloody delight. Gordo likes her.

For a change, it’s Schofield who is getting the stick as Peter, who clearly had been getting high on his own supply down at Centro, explains to him his thoughts on the fact that he has never won one anything in Jonathan’s North West Food and Drink Awards. Jonathan manages to divert the conversation to D Percussion, the free music festival attended by Manchester’s attempt at the chattering classes along with a liberal sprinkling of the poor. There are more child buggies here than twats at Chester races.

D Percussion, a topic close to Gordo’s heart as he thinks it’s shit and says so. Peter then rounds on Gordo, explaining that he was the guy who started it eight years ago. Not a happy bunny our Peter. Jane managed to quiet him down. He isn’t a bad lad as it happens, Gordo enjoyed the banter.

Cleo Farnam, owner of Odd Bar in the Skint Quarter was there, Gordo tipped her to win an award and she did; a delightful bundle of fun, she tells Gordo that she is opening another, Odder, shortly and later on Oddest. Having seen some of the punters in the original Gordo thinks there is room for Dead Odd as well.

Her younger sister was there, journalist Polly. She gave Gordo a big kiss. Gordo didn’t remember who she was at first as he has only met her the once, on his regular Friday early doors visit to the bar of The Restaurant Bar and Grill; even then he was distracted by her behind, a bowl of chips and a pint of Guinness that was three-quarters empty. Gordo burned his tongue on a chip, fresh out of a nuclear reactor and dropped the Guinness down his crotch. Sometimes a Burqa has its uses.

Up at Cloud 23 Gordo recognised that it was Polly after she turned round to go to the loo. Young Polly is trouble.

Thursday: Charity Opening of 235

Open at last, the venue had a party for charity. We don’t need to guess who’s. We sincerely hope the young lady has raised that five million quid by now. T’was a superb night by any measure. Sir Alex Ferguson was showing class by signing autographs for all and sundry, that bird from come dancing was as fit as a butchers dog whilst the booze flowed like Niagara Falls. Non of that running out at this one, even Michael Huckerby was impressed.

Irritating use of the Icon room for “VIPs”. Gordo rather thought that we were all VIPs? This room by the way is a bit special, with a board room and table seating twenty two which is the best in Manchester.

Geraldine from SKiV media was on the door. A lovely lady normally but she appeared to be suffering from clip board – itus. She took one look at Gordo. “Get lost fatty, you’re not on the list”. Ouch. A simple “No untrustworthy second class gossip mongerers allowed” would have sufficed. I bet that Diane Bourne got in.

Gordo was sat with Flick Everett and Hubby Simon, quickly joined by a sensational looking Bev from The Didsbury Magazine and her crew, including hubby Salem, known by Gordo as Everyone’s A Winner. Bev is currently on child number thirty two. He could solve the sperm shortage in one week flat.

Spookily, the fire alarms went off at midnight and we all had to evacuate the building. The smart money was on Maria Slater, the dead fit Gaffer of Manchester 235, deciding that she was in danger of being drank out of house and home by the Mancs.

Going on to Panacea, Gordo met the West Property crew, headed up by the astonishingly pretty Lara Gaibie. Somehow Gordo found himself in the secret room down at the Circle Club at four in the morning, on the Karaoke. Gordo has to vote this the best room in town. Invitees only.

Happy Trails


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