Friday 20 November 2009
As I emerge this morning I notice that I didn’t actually manage to close my front door last night. It has been a strong while since things (drinking) got that mad.
This morning I have morning after remorse. Fortunately I don’t have a hangover off though so I guess we’re trading off vices here.
Despite my hoodie smelling of booze things start off fairly well today. My optimism then however gets scuppered as the train delays but it’s not the end of the world.
Eventually I get to London without drama and while on the tube at Euston Square an old man in a hat just says out loud “the nightmare continues.” I brace myself for a full breakout of verbals and some cool content for my blog but unfortunately it doesn’t come. I think I’ve seen this guy before but then again all wackjobs begin to look alike eventually.
Today turns out to be a tough day at work. The poor Filipino lady comes in and says she was sick last night and this morning she has that quiet calmness of a person with a little headache. Then as The Girl comes in we have a full post mortem of events from last night including things that I had forgotten. It all gets revisited.
I try to work but distraction remains, not least from The Girl who eventually I wind up shouting at in the afternoon when she goes too far just as I begin to find some kind of flow. As a result she gets stroppy and a deafening silence exhumes.
Today Marceline (Diskant) is down in London and this has been in my iPhone diary for a couple of weeks now. Quickly I contact her via Twitter (the modern world eh) and soon we are exchanging texts and making plans to meet up. I suggest meeting on Argyll Street for 5.30PM, which is a slightly big ask as it doesn’t give either of us much time to get there.
Eventually we meet up as Marceline jumps in front of me startling me while I am attempting to reading the Evening Substandard (bring back the fun layout of The London Paper, all is forgiven).
This is the first time we have actually seen each other since the Explosions In The Sky ATP last year and the gap between times meeting before that was probably even longer/wider.
We walk through Carnaby Street looking for a place to get something to drink and unsurprisingly for a Friday night rubbing up on the Christmas season it is rammed. Above the stores and the street are various giant balloons colouring up the place for tourists looking to humour them into parting with their pounds. The street also appears home to street performers as some guy plays with a spinning top and rope which he flips miles into the sky before regaining and catching it in impressive style. This feat however is almost interrupted when I nearly walk into the grafter.
In the end we find a coffee shop just off Carnaby Street called Sacred Café where happily there are seats and people happy to serve us. Soon we find ourselves sat down and discussing our latest ventures and movements in our lives. I cannot remember the last time that we actually sat down and spoke at this length and it is strange now how I seem to be catching up with people now from what appears to be my previous life with Gringo Records. Inevitably we get onto the “good old days” and we run the risk of so much (too much) remember when conversation but thankfully we never overdose on old times.
I really like Sacred Café, for me this is discovering a real gem of a place in the centre of town, to think I almost suggested that we hit Starbucks.
Eventually Marceline’s sister Nicolette turns up and again it is really strange to be seeing another person from my past (life). All things end on a high note with the usual plan of “lets not leave it so long next time” and serves as an optimistic reminder of how great the people in life can be.
From here I cram myself onto a packed Central Line Friday evening train. I really hate this line sometimes. I end up catching the 7.30PM train to Norwich only to be confronted by the interesting sight/vision of a woman in a Burberry burkha. Is that really progress?
The 7.30PM train is predictably full of fucking idiots, amateurs and tourists just getting in the way. By now being a seasoned veteran of riding these fucking trains twice a day I almost feel like a professional passenger.
A pretty Japanese girl decides to sit opposite me and then on top of me with all her luggage and fancy shopping bags. Basically I fancy her as she proceeds to sit with a BK bag on the table that she does not even touch resulting in my sitting for almost an hour staring hungrily at her Burger King.
To my right some guy sits reading this week’s Look magazine. He had looked normal from the outside. As he turns each page he does so waywardly that results in him nudging me in the side every fucking time. Why? Why me?
Everyone fucking annoys me on the train tonight as grown adults seem to find it impossible to remain seated in their chairs. What is it with these amateurs? This is a train not an aeroplane. Elsewhere there are three Dizzee Rascals all chatting and calling each other “bruv.”
When I eventually get home Children In Need is in full swing on BBC1 meaning that TV doesn’t offer up much for the evening. In response ITV is showing Commando and Channel Four a 3D version of a Friday The 13th movie. Tasteful. Further scanning the listings I notice that Don’t Look Now is on in the early hours (around the time the telethon is ending). What kind of sick bastard schedules a horror movie about the ghost of a drowned kid against a children’s charity night? Hats off.
I go to bed.