Ice Ice Baby

Mr B's best mate is called Barry. It was Barry's birthday last week and Barry's wife Amelle had arranged a surprise.

At exactly 5:10pm on Saturday Mr B and I pulled up outside their house. Mr B then whisked us all away into London in our trusty car.

Barry had no idea what we were doing.

We parked in an underground carpark just off Regent Street. There were typical London cars parked there. Our nice car was somewhat outshone by the other residents.



Off we skipped to our sub-zero haunt for the night.



We donned well-insulated hooded capes and in we went, into the freezing ice bar. Everything, and I mean everything, was made of ice... the seats, the bar, the tables, the shot glasses...



We enjoyed our shots, though our lips got quite cold.



Amelle and I were toasty warm in our capes.



Mr B and Barry larked about, putting their heads into a tunneled block of ice



Mr B



Barry



We were only allowed 40 minutes in the winterwonderland or we would have turned into ice sculptures ourselves. We spent the rest of the night just next door, warming up, enjoying drinks and delicious tapas and laughing. Mr B even gave my feet a warm-up rub under the table.



That night I dreamt of being in a real ice wonderland, watching the Northern Lights...

Hopefully one day.