i_kender

Went out with Rob (spintrian) after calling him and begging for a while! I was desperate... and really irritated that I hadn’t got anything Halloween-themed to go to due to lack of friends and contacts here in the Big Smoke. What is it about me, a grown man, that I crave wearing a costume and makeup and making faces at people? We went to a pub at Charing Cross where we met up with Manolis (aka Greekboy2) and Nigel, friends of Rob, and chatted for a while. Then walked to Soho and ended up going to a swanky new bar that only opened a couple of weeks ago. Very nice place. We saw a fight on the way. Sigh, London.

And thencely on to the club, Wigout at the... nope, it’s gone. Lots of people were dressed up in their Halloween finery, but actually all the costumes I saw were pretty lame... well, I suppose you have to make concession for clubbers wanting to get sweaty and dance. But far far too many angel wings and devil horns which stinks of cliché and lack of effort to me. Neh, whatever.
So we proceeded to get nice and sweaty. (No, this is not one of those stories- please take your porn-obsessed ass elsewhere. Pervert.) The music was really good, needless to say, and lots of lovely ladies, some of whom were even straight! Ok, most of whom... like lesbians go out? (I’m teasing... put down the broken cue stick) I do miss going out with a posse... it is very awkward clubbing with people you don’t know or have only met that night. Particularly if you’re struggling for conversation even when you *can* hear each other! I miss my friends... I’m sure I had some around here somewhere... hmph, they must have gone the way of my collection of Star Wars figures.

That aside, it was a good night. I am now, of course, wondering what is wrong with me. I did get some attention (thankfully not just from guys this time... read the sign, fellas: I Like Cats) but of course didn’t act on it. There were cute girls there, but the ones who were attracted to me I didn’t fancy, and the ones I liked were just too unapproachable. And not just because it was a gay club, but because there is Something Wrong with me. Clearly. I mean, aren’t I supposed to be exchanging saliva with strangers and having random (but extremely fulfilling) sexual encounters at this time of my life? So why does it seem like so much effort. Why can’t I be bothered? Why the angst? That is so, like, teeny.

...and the Rob-voice in my head says ‘Get over it already!’ Thanks Rob for the tact as always ;) ...

So Rob ended up with this Italian guy, and I got very drunk and spilled out into post-clubbing drunk weekend London (which I swear is somehow prettier with more neon lights and much merriment and goodwill to man... ok got carried away. More neon, more noise, louder, brighter and sparkier. But often more brutish and covered in vomit and piss streams) Babbling now... where was I? Oh yes, spilled onto late-night London to stagger to Trafalgar Square for the night bus home. Alone, sadly, as Rob had disappeared with his conquest. That’s ok, I was pissed. The sanest way to survive such a long bus journey at that time of night with, quite often, the dregs of humanity. Like the charming fellow next to me who spent nearly the entire journey ringing up his acquaintance Marney and promising to “mash his face and fuck him up” if the guy would be so kind as to get out of bed and make his way to Heston Community Centre at four thirty in the morning. Suave.

I am wibbly like a jellyfish today, but I did have the most amazing dream. God bless my subconscious mind. I was on a bus with all these people in full costume (and damn good ones at that) and it turned out we were all going to the same fancy dress party. I’m not sure what I was wearing. Probably nothing. No, not like that silly. I mean I don’t think I was dressed up. Anyway, it was full of really cool people who were young and smart and funny and beautiful, some gorgeous girls, we engaged in witty repartee. It took place in this large house with many rooms and wings, a shared house. One of the guys who’d lived there was a DJ and party organiser of sorts, so it was like a collective that regularly threw parties of this sort. Like the Love Lounge people in Brighton,,, oh yes, it does exist in real life too! And they throw fantastic bacchanals... (wist) so needless to say all the costumes were very good. Three people were there as different characters from an old medical British soap from the 50’s (I don’t know! Hey, talk to the subconscious because the waking mind ain’t in) and another girl with an axe in her head.

There was a Japanese family complete with five year old daughter, who’d come to the party because the young woman I was talking to at the time was the little girl’s teacher. So she had to hurriedly pass me the dewbury-whatsit she was holding so they didn’t spot it. Chortle, what japes! I left the party and went for a walk, and ended up at Hove lagoon. But in my dream it was a proper lagoon, with mossy shores that recede when the lagoon fills up, and water murky and greenish with chalky residue. But you know, in a good health spa kind of way. And people were splashing around waist deep, and flicking water at each other. It was early daytime by now, so the party must have been going strong for a while. I enjoyed the warm feeling of sunshine on my face, reaching down to touch the water with my hand and then splashing it over my face to refresh me. Then I headed back to the party (flying for part of the way... dreams have perks) to find the beautiful girl I’d been talking to. But I had to stop by the bathroom first, and ended up pissing in a steel trough. It took forever... the urinals filled up with other guys while I was there, and they all seemed to be finished by the time I was done. Apart from these two drunk guys, one English, one Japanese. And then the English guy turns to me with a photograph and asks me, “Hey, what’s this guy’s name again?” And I look at it and I say “Elvis. Elvis Presley. Elvis... (have to think about it for a second) Aaron... Presley.” He says “Thanks dude” and turns back to the Japanese guy and brandishes the photo at him. “See?” he slurs “that’s a guy who could teach you how to rap! Elvis Presley!” And they snort laughter at each other until I got bored and woke up.

Damn. I didn’t even get her number ;)