Sunday 29 November 2009
It’s not good when the stories you write about experiences are better than the actual events themselves.
I wake up on a sofa just before 8AM. I remember crashing on it but I struggle to recall just when that was. This is Tulse Hill and South London, always home to a rude awakening.
In my phone the name of the lady I was talking to is typed in at 1.23AM earlier this morning. The name is “Anna Turrell” and I can’t really remember what she looked like.
As I get up to go to the toilet I notice some slashes in/on the upholstery of the sofa I crashed out on. Damn, I hope that wasn’t me.
I feel depressed today. Last night didn’t quite turn out how I had positively envisaged it would. The people I feared would blank me indeed did and the people who I worried would annoy me did so too.
Being first up I have the wait that lies ahead of me and with the time at just 8.20AM it could well be hours before there is any other sign of life.
In the bathroom I look at my reflection in the mirror. It is bad. Self loathing kicks in as a pudgy demeanour screams back at me in the glass.
With nothing better to do I begin clearing and cleaning up. Perhaps it is with the intention to make noise and shake the house into life and action. It works.
First up is the Australian girl in glasses that didn’t give me the time of day last night. We share some stunted conversation and finally introduce ourselves. As I begin bagging up bottles, cans and plastics in an eco friendly manner eventually others begin to rise and I let them take over the cleaning duties.
It is a strange feeling as so many people rise; so many people that I have nothing in common with and do not necessarily feel I should be associating with. I know this sounds harsh but as a social event the party last night only appear to serve to hamper my wellbeing rather than help me flourish as an individual. I could say I have felt this rejected all year but last night felt bad in a way that it has tasted in a while.
As we look out of the window over the view of the city there is a gorgeous rainbow flying over the landscape. On another day these could be the greatest times.
Slowly the rest of the “dream team” emerge. Racton briefly acknowledges how I had been snappy towards one of them last night and together we hope that this is not remembered come this morning.
The exit from the scene of the crime is fast moving as people soon pull their shit together and head off. Perhaps this is what happens when you grow up, I can recall being part of a group that have lingered post party well into the afternoon in the past.
Our little band makes moves around 11AM after having been served up slice upon slice of toast. This time people take notice of me as we head towards Tulse Hill train station with view to wheeling quickly and painlessly back into town and home.
Spirits feel low as we trudge through South London. Myself I suddenly find I am in possession of a dulling headache and by the time we get to the train station itself the heavens have opened which resembles our group morale as the weather turns to shit.
Eventually a train to Farringdon that stops at St Pancras turns up which we all board in a deflated manner. Later as the train grounds to a halt at Elephant And Castle we look over at the hostile architecture of one of the meanest Central London environments that today feels fittingly coupled with the raining pissing down on it. As the train sits stationary we begin to wonder if it will ever start moving again, if the drive has just given up on life in face of what surrounds him.
In the end though the train does start up again and soon Chris is departing at St Pancras. I wish him well as he really has not appeared to be very happy this weekend.
With Tom’s train not being until 3PM Mark originally suggests that we head to Bethnal Green for a great Sunday roast that he apparently knows of. However when the train eventually gets to Farringdon, rather than hopping a tube to the Central Line it is decided that we are getting off/out here and trying our luck in the city. For me this is not the best of days to be trawling around exploring London as the rain drizzles down from above. With these being my first time wearing my new BAPE shoes I half suspect that this is some karmic intentional tool to ruin my new wheels.
We wind up walking towards the Smithfield Market as Mark tries to steer us towards St Pauls. Eventually we wind up in an Australian café called Kipferl. Quite frankly by this stage I am hanging and when I order a hot chocolate it is with the hope that the sugar rush will rejuvenate and reengage me. Half ill half bored I begin to glaze over as the other two take control of conversation happy to talk tosh.
In many ways this is a nice peaceful way to spend a Sunday. Outside despite the rain London looks nice and inside here the room is quaint and relaxing, genuinely coming with an air of Austria, of being European. With a seating capacity look like being around sixteen I can’t help but wonder how this place survives.
Elsewhere as I listen on I begin to wonder at which point does observation begin to represent whine. To be honest I could live without these two at this time.
I think I am still pissed off about last night in order to deal with them. When a similar sort of party took place a couple of years ago the crowd felt pure, people were fresh and new but now here I am stuck back with these types as my streams cross towards these guys but their streams do not cross back. For this fact I can’t help but feel somewhat resentful. I kind of see/feel why Chris was subdued now.
Almost an hour later we leave the coffee shop. By this point there is a brief break from the rain but rather than actually do anything Mark says he feels in the mood for a walk. Common sense is not a winner on this day.
At this point my head has not improved, if anything it now feels worse. As we walk towards Holborn nearing Chancery Lane I see my opportunity to ditch the others and head home. I make gestures towards Tom to see him at Christmas and ask Mark to let me know about the spare MBV ATP ticket that there suddenly appears to be.
With the trains out today this means I have to haul myself across London across the Central Line over to Newbury Park where a hell coach is waiting to drag me to Romford or Shenfield or Ingatestone or somewhere.
My journey to Newbury Park is soundtracked by the Disney episode of Tank Riot podcast. At this time I would love to be anywhere but here watching cartoons. Eventually I get to Newbury Park for 2PM where I board a busy coach heading to Ingatestone I believe although the person that directed me to the bus did not fill me with confidence in his knowledge of the replacement bus service.
As I ride the coach my head begins to pound more than ever and at points I even begin to believe I am about to be sick on someone. Slowly we get onto the A12 and gradually pass through Dagenham and past Moby Dick eventually winding up on proper motorway while all the time I worry/fear that this might be a bus just going to Romford. Dark times.
Eventually the bus arrives at Ingatestone and I catch a train from there at 2.55PM. This is one of the most welcome trains I have ever boarded.
I get back to Colchester at 3.30PM hungry and with my head still pounding. With time I pop into Asda to get this week’s copy of The Observer because it is Observer Music Monthly week. I’ll miss this when the newspaper goes under.
Around 4PM I call round at my parents’ place. Thankfully mum has made me Sunday dinner, albeit an hour ago. It doesn’t matter that its cold it tastes so great under these circumstances.
I watch the second half of Arsenal v Chelsea play out with Chelsea already leading 2-0. Late on Drogba adds a third as Arsenal just look like a shadow of the team they once were. How has this been allowed to happen?
On the computer front it would appear that dad has temporarily managed to get it back online but obviously as soon as I touch the thing it breaks. As ever I get involved in trying to repair the thing but when AOL asks for the credit card details of the bill payer dad proves seemingly incapable of providing this information without getting into a huff and we up having a shouting match. Fucked off and tired I head home soon after this, knackered and uninterested.
Not long after returning home Nina sends me a text message to see when I am going out. Oh shit, I agreed to go to the pub quiz tonight. After watching Harry Hill and an episode of Entourage I head over to the Hogshead for the pub quiz.
Realistically I am too tired to go out tonight and as a result unfortunately it turns out to be something of a flat evening. As the other two (Nina and Sandy) sink two bottles of wine between them we fuck up the quiz by getting only 11 and a half (and that is with cheating as a table opposite us gives us a couple of answers).
At the end of proceedings I give everyone a lift home and as I drop Nina off at Shrub End we acknowledge that it was a crap night. Oh well.
Back home I watch more episodes of Entourage before passing out.
That was a tough weekend.