Happy New Year
Hey All,
Sorry I haven't blogged for a couple of days, I've been disturbed to discover that London effectively shuts down for a couple of days at this time of year.
Ridiculous. Seriously. What kind of city is this?
So I'll throw in a quick overview of the last couple of days:
Like I said, I found out that my old metal band in Brisbane just broke up. The two members, besides me, most wedded to Extreme Metal (and ironicly the last two to join) decided that they had had enough and have struck out on their own to start an extreme technical death/grind band.
And I say hallelulluh (sp?).
Having said that, the news of my the break up was kind of like hearing that an old friend had died, or something.
Still, change is good.
Also: talked to family quite a bit over Christmas and the days afterwards. Which was really nice.
Friday: Went shopping. Bought a Cannibal Corpse album and two extremely marked down Goldfrapp albums. The Cashier at HMV didn't bat an eyelid, much to my dissapointment. He must have assumed that I was buying the Goldfrapp Cds for someone else.
Nope, they were for me. ME ME ME.
After raiding HMV I bought a ticket to a late session for King Kong. The Movie started around 2330 and finished just after 0300. Late, late session.
After the movie I didn't much feel like the N8 bus ride back to Leytonstone, so I figured that I would ride out the three hours until tubes started running again.
So I wandered through the West End, parallel to Oxford Street, past Regent Street, Regent's park, Marble Arch etc.
It seemed like everyone that would normally be in the middle of London were at home getting a good night's sleep before New Years. Even the Homeless were missing. It bordered on surreal. I looked at one of the buildings I nearly moved into (the rate of rent prevented me from taking the shoebox size room, though for the location it was actually a steal. Relatively speaking).
I wandered down the emty streets, trying to locate the things that has struck me interesting a year ago. I remembered the locations a little differently.
Eventually I jumped on a tube, raided the Tescos and went home. There I entertained myself until early afternoon when I inadvisedly took a nap.
I was woken up by my Mother calling from Australia just after nine. D'oh! I was supposed to be at the Marlborough Head by that time.
Shower. Dress. Street.
Even though the tube strike was flagged to go ahead, I thought I would check the stations on the outside chance that it might have been averted.
Weirdly, there were tubes running, but the trains were few and far between, and they were only stopping at selected stations. As a result I had to stop at Oxford Circus instead of Bond Street and run the distance to get to The Marlborough Head.
When I got there, the Bouncer told me that unless I had a ticket, I couldn't get in, since it was rammed to the rafters.
Dammit!I sent a message to my friend Richie (he who had invited me), but I later found out that he hadn't got in either. Back down Oxford Street I wandered.
I did find a small pub in Soho called The Bathhouse where I watched the countdown and sang Auld Lang Syne (one day I'll find a Gaelic Dictionary and find out what that actually means). Behind the bar in the pub, among others, was an Australian punk rocker with a Misfits belt buckle. He was cool.
I sipped Jack and Ginger and planned my next move. I figured that Slimelight was probably the best place to go.
On Oxford Street I ran into a couple of friends who were headed that way themselves. We all squeezed into an already full bus and rode up to Angel.
Slimelight was roaring in all it's decadent glory. The dancefloors were packed, lights and lasers, the whole nine yards.
Soon after arriving I was at the urinal in the men's room and a pillhead next to me was trying to carry on a conversation with a couple behind me. Which meant that his attention was distracted from where it should have been, causing him to piss all over my right boot.
When I protested I realised that there was no getting any sense out of him, so I decided against beating him up, since he wouldn't know why I was doing it and he probably wouldn't feel it anyways. Besides, nobody really saw him piss on my boot, so if I suddenly laid into him I would look like the sociopath, probably leading to me getting ejected from the venue. Besides, beating people up isn't really in my character. I'm the not-violent brother.
If anyone disagrees with my choice, maybe next time I will beat the guilty party up and explain that I was acting on advice.
In any case, I rinsed the boot under the tape in the sink and the rest of the night was much more fun. I hobnobbed with friends and danced around until dawn.
After leaving the club, I went looking for a cafe that some friends had told me to find, but I couldn't. I decided to head home.
The rest of the morning was notable in that it illustrated to me, for the first time in my life, what Bono really meant with the song New Years Day by U2.
London on New Years Day is deserted. 28 Days Later deserted. Nothing is open, no-one is seen. I'm betting there was more activity in Hiroshima on August 9, 1945.
Unable to buy any food at Tescos (because it was closed) I read a newspaper and chewed a cheeseburger in Leytonstone Macca's before heading home.
Since all the internet cafes were closed (along with everything else, save the Turkish Supermarket round the corner) my flatmate let me check my email on his PC in his room.
My other flatmate told me that most some European cities shut down entirely for two weeks or more this time of year. Bizarre. I wouldn't be able to cope. I'm so addicted to convenience I should have been born American (no offence intended, Clyo).
I collapsed into bed at three PM and woke up at 3 am.
Before daylight I chilled on a downstairs couch and read a few chapters in a book about working in retail while listening to the Goldfrapp Albums I bought on friday night.
I have laundry to do. And resolutions to write and break.
Over and out.
J
Sorry I haven't blogged for a couple of days, I've been disturbed to discover that London effectively shuts down for a couple of days at this time of year.
Ridiculous. Seriously. What kind of city is this?
So I'll throw in a quick overview of the last couple of days:
Like I said, I found out that my old metal band in Brisbane just broke up. The two members, besides me, most wedded to Extreme Metal (and ironicly the last two to join) decided that they had had enough and have struck out on their own to start an extreme technical death/grind band.
And I say hallelulluh (sp?).
Having said that, the news of my the break up was kind of like hearing that an old friend had died, or something.
Still, change is good.
Also: talked to family quite a bit over Christmas and the days afterwards. Which was really nice.
Friday: Went shopping. Bought a Cannibal Corpse album and two extremely marked down Goldfrapp albums. The Cashier at HMV didn't bat an eyelid, much to my dissapointment. He must have assumed that I was buying the Goldfrapp Cds for someone else.
Nope, they were for me. ME ME ME.
After raiding HMV I bought a ticket to a late session for King Kong. The Movie started around 2330 and finished just after 0300. Late, late session.
After the movie I didn't much feel like the N8 bus ride back to Leytonstone, so I figured that I would ride out the three hours until tubes started running again.
So I wandered through the West End, parallel to Oxford Street, past Regent Street, Regent's park, Marble Arch etc.
It seemed like everyone that would normally be in the middle of London were at home getting a good night's sleep before New Years. Even the Homeless were missing. It bordered on surreal. I looked at one of the buildings I nearly moved into (the rate of rent prevented me from taking the shoebox size room, though for the location it was actually a steal. Relatively speaking).
I wandered down the emty streets, trying to locate the things that has struck me interesting a year ago. I remembered the locations a little differently.
Eventually I jumped on a tube, raided the Tescos and went home. There I entertained myself until early afternoon when I inadvisedly took a nap.
I was woken up by my Mother calling from Australia just after nine. D'oh! I was supposed to be at the Marlborough Head by that time.
Shower. Dress. Street.
Even though the tube strike was flagged to go ahead, I thought I would check the stations on the outside chance that it might have been averted.
Weirdly, there were tubes running, but the trains were few and far between, and they were only stopping at selected stations. As a result I had to stop at Oxford Circus instead of Bond Street and run the distance to get to The Marlborough Head.
When I got there, the Bouncer told me that unless I had a ticket, I couldn't get in, since it was rammed to the rafters.
Dammit!I sent a message to my friend Richie (he who had invited me), but I later found out that he hadn't got in either. Back down Oxford Street I wandered.
I did find a small pub in Soho called The Bathhouse where I watched the countdown and sang Auld Lang Syne (one day I'll find a Gaelic Dictionary and find out what that actually means). Behind the bar in the pub, among others, was an Australian punk rocker with a Misfits belt buckle. He was cool.
I sipped Jack and Ginger and planned my next move. I figured that Slimelight was probably the best place to go.
On Oxford Street I ran into a couple of friends who were headed that way themselves. We all squeezed into an already full bus and rode up to Angel.
Slimelight was roaring in all it's decadent glory. The dancefloors were packed, lights and lasers, the whole nine yards.
Soon after arriving I was at the urinal in the men's room and a pillhead next to me was trying to carry on a conversation with a couple behind me. Which meant that his attention was distracted from where it should have been, causing him to piss all over my right boot.
When I protested I realised that there was no getting any sense out of him, so I decided against beating him up, since he wouldn't know why I was doing it and he probably wouldn't feel it anyways. Besides, nobody really saw him piss on my boot, so if I suddenly laid into him I would look like the sociopath, probably leading to me getting ejected from the venue. Besides, beating people up isn't really in my character. I'm the not-violent brother.
If anyone disagrees with my choice, maybe next time I will beat the guilty party up and explain that I was acting on advice.
In any case, I rinsed the boot under the tape in the sink and the rest of the night was much more fun. I hobnobbed with friends and danced around until dawn.
After leaving the club, I went looking for a cafe that some friends had told me to find, but I couldn't. I decided to head home.
The rest of the morning was notable in that it illustrated to me, for the first time in my life, what Bono really meant with the song New Years Day by U2.
London on New Years Day is deserted. 28 Days Later deserted. Nothing is open, no-one is seen. I'm betting there was more activity in Hiroshima on August 9, 1945.
Unable to buy any food at Tescos (because it was closed) I read a newspaper and chewed a cheeseburger in Leytonstone Macca's before heading home.
Since all the internet cafes were closed (along with everything else, save the Turkish Supermarket round the corner) my flatmate let me check my email on his PC in his room.
My other flatmate told me that most some European cities shut down entirely for two weeks or more this time of year. Bizarre. I wouldn't be able to cope. I'm so addicted to convenience I should have been born American (no offence intended, Clyo).
I collapsed into bed at three PM and woke up at 3 am.
Before daylight I chilled on a downstairs couch and read a few chapters in a book about working in retail while listening to the Goldfrapp Albums I bought on friday night.
I have laundry to do. And resolutions to write and break.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 1:52 pm
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