| Glimpses of the past month |
[Apr. 3rd, 2007|05:53 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
I'm standing on a street corner opposite Angel station. It's late Saturday evening, the place is buzzing with people. The night sky is clear and dark. A full moon hangs in the sky, except it's coloured blood red. For several minutes I gaze on the moon, whilst all around me the party-people are having their normal night out, moving from bar to bar, oblivious to the night sky. Nobody looks up any more. It's sad. I move on and drown my sorrows at a place called Feeling Gloomy.
I'm holding a very fancy and pretentious glass, suitable for a special occasion, but it's not a special occasion. A green drink flows from a bottle, soaking the sugarcube resting on the spoon above the glass. A lighter sparks, and the sugarcube ignites. The sugarcube falls into the glass, igniting the green drink. Pretty blue flames dance around the glass. I sip this concoction with care.
I'm at a obscenely hip venue in Shoreditch, a place I'd not normally even consider going, where somehow we blagged our way in for free. The place is swarming with trendy people perched on stools and flopped on sofas, drinking outrageously expensive drinks. I'm feeling a little out of place. A secret gig by LCD Soundsystem is in progress. I don't know the music but move up near the front anyway, where I'm apparently surrounded by gay girls. The electronic sound pulses away and people around me slowly lose themselves in the music. I find myself being absorbed into the sound, and lose myself in the music too. It is fun.
I'm upset as I've had a bad day. I grab a bottle and turn up on a friend's doorstep in the evening. We put on 80s music and drink the bottle, and suddenly my problems don't seem so bad anymore. I feel understood. We grab another bottle later, and drink and make merry into the small hours. A good friend like this is priceless.
I'm in a small theatre in Twickenham, surrounded by a few friends. We're watching a performance of Hamlet, and it's strange to see someone I know well on the stage. I'm impressed by the performance, and it makes me happy. We giggle at inappropiate moments, even though it's supposed to be a tragedy.
I'm at a party in Lewisham, and we're sitting around a table. We're all holding cards, and have a pile of counters in front of us. Strange coloured drinks are floating around the table. I hold nothing in the way of cards, but put counters in anyway, and so do others. I put in more counters, until they give up and I collect lots of counters. Nobody sees my bad cards. Later I get caught out, and lose all my counters. Maybe my poker face isn't what it used to be.
I'm in a greasy spoon cafe with friends and a little bit hungover. It's very full, and it slowly dawns on us why. It's an irish greasy spoon cafe, and today is St Patricks Day. There is Free Whiskey, and I indulge, despite the hangover. The food arrives and the plates are full of everything, and more baked beans than is humanely possible to eat. I stuff myself silly, but still get nowhere near finishing. The food comes to less than a fiver. I must go back to Lewisham more often.
I'm in the kitchen, and it smells good. Very good indeed, in fact! A goddess is a frenzy of activity, baking chocolate brownies. It takes longer than expected, and we turned into pumpkins before the brownies were ready, but the resulting yummies are well worth the wait. My stomach loves me afterwards.
I'm in bed, it's the middle of the night, and I'm in agony. My tooth hurts, and has been causing me pain for three days now. It's only getting worse. I'm scared that the days of bad teeth have returned, after many years of good teeth. I don't want bad teeth days again, and I eventually cry myself to sleep. When I wake, the pain has somehow gone. I'm very thankful, but I look up dentists anyway, as I'm currently unregistered. I think I've had a warning.
I'm returning home from shopping in Leytonstone. Walking down the hill I've a view across London to the City in the distance. The sun has just set behind the towers, and the whole horizon is a warming shade of red and orange, creating a pretty silhouette of the buildings. In the sky above hang the new moon and Venus together. Nature is showing off. The next day it's sunrise, I'm awake, dancing clockwise and burning candles.
I'm in a club below London Bridge station, someone is buying me drinks on the condition I take her little sister home with me. For some reason the absurdity of this amuses me, but I go along with it as it more than pleases me to do so. A game of Dangerous Liaisons is set up, but I deliberately aim to lose. I admire my handiwork, and it is pleasing.
I'm at a party in Archway. We're all sitting on the sofas, wearing wigs, and mine is pink. We're bouncing along to outrageously camp and cheesy songs, drinking something that smells strongly of roses. A game of chess is in progress, except all the pieces are from Midsummer Night's Dream. Later we dance around the room to Rocky Horror. I have this feeling we had a different party to everyone else there.
I'm at home and we're making diaquiris, except none of us know how to. We make them anyway, and emerge with something that tastes like mulched strawberries. We watch that film with Pirates in it. Where has all the rum gone? I think we just drank it all.
It's 8 in the morning and they're using pneumatic drills on the road just outside my bedroom. This is the worst alarm clock ever. I can't get back to sleep at all, my whole head is ringing with the noise. They're building speed ramps, which is absurd, as our road is a cul-de-sac and gets almost no traffic at all.
I'm back in Archway, and I've found rum again, except this is gay rum, which seems appropiate. The room is full of lovely people, all of whom I love, many dressed up, with two pairs of identical costumes. We read the lines of iambic pentameter to each other and play our parts, silly as they all are. Despite me hating that play, it ends up being lots of fun. Later there is a hula-hoop and a game of Oware. When people start leaving I head onwards to another party.
I'm in Finsbury Park, and it's way too early in the morning. I'm getting agitated prodding at a computer that refuses to connect to a website. Connection refused. Refresh. Connection refused. Refresh. This goes on for at least an hour. It's not a lot of fun. My phone beeps to tell me the good news. Everything is sorted, and we have magic passes to enter Fortress Glastonbury. I smile and then go back to sleep.
I'm in a hobbit-like pub near London Bridge, sitting in a pokey little corner. The room is full of fiddles and hurdy-gurdies, plus the odd bodhran, guitar and even a cello. They're belting out a furious mix of english and french music, most of which sounds familiar, and all is very pleasing. Occasionally there is a singalong, but I'm too sober to want to sing, and many there don't know the words anyway, except for the chorus. My friend is a storm of enthusiasm as she plays the fiddle, she's the center of attention, if she bounced any more she'd be Eliza. I'm happily impressed by this, and also happy to find this sort of thing happens in London.
I'm sitting here at the computer and it's RIGHT NOW and I'm still wondering what's happening this weekend, as I have no plans at all. Perhaps I'll defrost the fridge. Joy! So who wants to see me? My email has not been working since Saturday, and I don't know why, and this isn't helping. But I have other more pressing issues, I need to buy more rum for tonight, as there will be more Pirates, and this time the drinks will taste of bananas. |
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48 (92.3%)
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