GORDO is Confidential's bon vivant, food oracle and enforcer. Gordo does not do PC, Gordo slaps foie gras on PC and swallows it whole with a nice bottle of Sauternes...
The ex-Russian tank battalion Major last seen by Putin rolling out of Afghanistan into Chechnya with 49 tanks
THE EDITOR LEAVES... WELL, SORT OF
Editor Jonathan ‘Architrave’ Schofield has stepped down as Managing Editor of Manchester Confidential making way for David ‘Jacksie’ Blake to move up a notch. Gordo breathed a sigh of relief as well as receiving a vote of thanks from his liver when given the news.
This earned Jonno a leaving party at The Kings Arms, in Salford, a bit of a trendy pub, sprinkled with the odd Salfordian shootist taking a well-earned rest from duties in the Ashley Brook, allowing the hearses to get through the front door.
Gordo arrived at the shindig to find Jonno sitting in his booked room on his own. It was his party, and, of course, he can cry if he wants to. It turns out the rest of the office were following closely behind.
Gordo was shocked the following morning when he walked into the ManCon offices to find Jonno still at his desk.
“Only joking Gordo, I’m staying on as another type of Editor,” grins the fifty-one year old Boy Scout. Gordo choked on his Bangers and Bacon buttie. Jonno had talked Gordo, on the night, into taking everyone for a ‘quick curry’ at Scene, the new Indian in Spinningfields. It does 'street food' apparently. The bill was over £600. That would feed 2,400 in Mumbai. Gordo had to have a lie down.
Billy No Mates in the back room at The King's ArmsTHE £3000 CRISP
And it wasn’t even Walkers...
Gordo was off to the MRI, where a tall, blond, blue-eyed, good looking, fifty-something Argentinian eye surgeon called Professor Von Richtoven-Stanga was going to be operating on Fatty’s eyes to stop him going blind. It’s a long story, shut up you lot at the back.
"So, Herr Gordo, have you had anything to eat since 11am this morning?” asks the beady-eyed U-Boat botherer.
“Absolutely not Prof," replies Gordo, looking at Nurse Jennie and the anesthetist, fingers crossed behind his back.
When Nurse Jennie is on her own, giving Gordo a once over, she asks the questions again. “Gordo, have you really had nothing to eat since 11am?” asked with a whiff of camaraderie.
“Well,” Gordo grins, “I did eat one crisp.”
This was the fault of the new CEO at ManCon towers, Mr Googleberg, who keeps bringing in packets of special offer out-of-date crisps from some weird German supermarket. Gordo had, quite literally, eaten one crisp absent-mindedly on the way out of the office.
Nurse Jennie finished her duties and told Gordo to relax for half an hour.
Three minutes later the door to the room bursts open and the Professor, Dr. Death the anesthetist and Nurse Jennie enter, all three glaring at The Fat One.
“You’ve had a crisp!’ snarls Professor Von Hindenburg-Stanga.
Gordo drops his head in shame; he hasn’t felt this way since a prefect caught him and Roger Lowe taking a dump in Manchester Grammar’s pool after they had resoundingly beaten Gordo’s team one Saturday morning. The two jokers thought an extra couple of turds in the place wouldn’t make too much of a difference.
The caning wasn’t worth it then and sure wasn’t worth it this time. All in all, the cancelled operation cost Fatty £3000.
Blimey, one crisp…
Pointing out where the eyes are for the surgeon...A TALE OF TWO CLUBS
Hotel Gotham has been with us for some time now. It opened in April employing a London-based creative team, who managed to talk the owners into taking no local advice. Bright.
The membership is £750 a year; for that, you can take three pals in with you and buy drinks in what Gordo imagines the waiting room at Dignitas in Switzerland to be like.
Manchester House also does Martinis, Iberica does gin and tonics and The Alchemist Daiquiris. All are as good as this club, but there are differences. The three mentioned above are all mad busy with differing but lively crowds, and you don’t have to go through some patronizing application system to then have £750 prized from your bank account smartish.
Now, ask yourself this. Would you go home to the missus and tell her, "Hey, love, I’ve just spent £750 joining a flash (well, sort of) drinking club in Manchester".
“That’s nice love, what’s it called?” asks the wife.
“Club Brass.”
Hubby finds himself cancelling the card transaction sharpish while being bashed over the head with a frying pan.
Yes folks, some southern halfwit got them to name it Club Brass.
Blimey.
Down the road, another club has opened. It’s called Suburbia, it’s at the bottom of King Street, opened by a savvy ex-footballer, Tom. If you don’t look like Jack The Ripper, and can afford to pay your way, you can get in. Which is how us lot here in Mancunia like it.
Arriving at door the bouncer, reassuringly, took one look at Gordo and pulled him to one side. These people know how to filter out loonies. Fortunately, the lady on the door recognized Gordo and confirmed he wasn’t a tramp.
That Saturday night Gordo visited both clubs. Suburbia was rammed, with a healthy sprinkling of food industry pros including the delightful Jess, now BDM at the trendy Tattu. Club Brass (not a brothel folks, don’t be cheap) was like the bar at Reddish Labour Club at 1am on a Tuesday.
Gordo is weeping for that £750.
Where's the Brass...OF BURGERS & PUB QUIZZES...
One of Gordo’s favourite trolls on Twitter, the Oldham Hospital DJ Elliot ‘inappropriate’ Eastwick (@utter_tw@t) takes some beating.
Allegedly removed from hosting his famous (in his own mind) pub quiz at a well known ballroom bar in the city, as he was ‘tired, emotional and, well, inappropriate’, Elliot delights in telling everyone (well, his tufty club pals on Twitter) that Gordo is a twice bankrupt fat, bald fraudster who smells.
Oh, and a sex tourist.
Gordo got irritated with the last accusation, as it has been some time since he last visited the world famous Yab Yum in Amsterdam. And he missed out one bankruptcy; but that’s not the point. Elliott should at least get his facts right.
Mind you, it has to be said that his quizzes can be fun. Unlike the one Gordo found himself in down at the new pub on Spinningfields, Dockyard. It’s owned by Manchester’s shiftiest and tightest restaurateur, Steve Pilling.
Sat with Confidential’s very own Leo McGarry and The Wonderboy Valentine last Tuesday, the trio found themselves in the middle of that pub quiz.
The answer to the first five questions was David Beckham. The quizmaster’s diction was poor to start with; mix that with the PA system, purchased by Shifty Pilling on Ebay for readies and you have a recipe for confusion. The delivery address, by all accounts, was ‘the motorway roundabout, just past Knutsford Services, the M6.’
You get what you pay for and the PA system turned Willy The Sheep into whispering Bob Harris. The quiz was pants. Go for the excellent beer is Gordo’s advice. You can see Fat Boy's opinion in the accompanying photograph.
Says it all...Now, comment needs to made about the food. Gordo, who is sick and tired of burgers, decided, perversely, to have Dockyard's ‘Miss Betty’ burger. Nope, Gordo neither.
It had American and Swiss cheese, beef, tomato, red onion, lettuce, pickles, mustard, mayo and ketchup (£7.95). Although it should have been named the ‘Missed Nowt Out’ burger - it was bloody fantastic.
Gordo is interested to see what the Russian owners at Burger and Lobster, the latest southern mob to patronize the arse off us Mancs, are doing with their burger at their spankingly new but well-hidden restaurant off King Street.
It’s £20 English.
It had better be two and a half times better than Shifty’s offering at Dockyard. Wait and see folks, Gordo will be there soon to ensure his readers are getting value for money. Hopefully, they will at least have a decent PA system.
Mind you, if the owners are anything like the new pal Gordo met by the pool at the Martinez in Canne, Альберт (call me Albert) Жолнерович - an ex-Russian tank battalion Major last seen by Putin rolling out of Afghanistan into Chechnya with 49 tanks and, allegedly, 120 tonnes of heroin strapped to the back of them - Gordo will be saying the burgers are very nice indeed and worth every penny of that £20. Sorry, Sir.
Dockyard's smashing Betty burgerSENSIBLE WIMMIN
Gordo’s publisher, Mark Garner, does like a good writer. He particularly rates Katie Popperwell, the highly educated, fit, arts-botherer. Gordo hears Garner has been trying to talk her into writing a column for him, which she has declined as she's been given a very grown-up role at a very grown-up institution.
Gordo thinks Garner is going about it all wrong. He suggests that he shows her some of his art collection, a sample of which Gordo has nicked from the executive loos at ManCon Towers (see below). Then, a pat on her bottom and tell her she’s very pretty. That’ll do it Garner, be a man for a change.
Inpressing with artBEST SANDWICHES
Editor Blakey is putting together a list of the very best sandwiches in Manchester. Gordo can’t put the last one he had on the list. It was on a visit to Gerrard Seel, the infamous wine merchants, in a place called Warrington and on a street not on Google maps.
Having got lost he discovered a sandwich van. Bacon, sausage and cheese on a crispy French baton no less. It was £2.50 and bloody fabulous. He’s going back.
Two star buttie van
Two star brekkie baguetteBEST PUSSY
Jessica, the only pussy willing to sit on Gordo’s lap recently, has passed on to pussy heaven. Gordo will miss her. There is what appears to be a very inappropriate picture of Gordo examining poor old Jess below. Things aren’t what they seem. Honest Guv. But Eastwick will be no doubt be using the material. Go on Elliot, knock yourself out son, but don’t forget to give Peggy in Ward Three a shout-out.
Jessica... get your minds out the gutterBEST FISH & CHIPS
At the risk of getting a cleaver in the back, courtesy of Grandma at Chung’s Chippy, Gordo has to give the accolade to Foster's in Alderley Edge, where he recently took his mum, Maureen. The fish was fab, as was the company. Maureen, on the day, decided that Tony Blair needed flogging, Cherie was a ‘silly bitch’ and that she isn’t forgiving the Japanese any time soon either.
Foster's Cracking Fish & ChipsOTHER BEST STUFF
Soreen's new ‘toastie’ malt loaf. Boss with Lurpack.
‘Hotties’ calendar for Help for Heroes charity, buy one. Gordo’s pal is in it, contact @_missscm for details.
Bangers and Bacon's breakfast barmcakes at the Leftbank end of Spinningfields. Heaven with a hangover.
First class to Dubai with Emirates. The bollocks. Make sure you get the free pyjamas and abuse the Hennessy Privé at the small bar out front.
Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell, the Keith Waterhouse play about the hard drinking Spectator columnist (much like Gordo - but Bernard could actually write) was performed on Radio 4 last weekend. Listen to it on that iPlayer, or whatever it is. Quality.
“I’ve sacked my publisher,” says Jeffrey. “I told her one of us has to be sober and it isn’t going to be me”.
Happy trails.
Gordo
Follow @GordoManchester on twitter
Gordo's pal in the Help for Heroes Hotties calendar
Abusing the bubbles
