I hate days like this. Fact is I really don’t want to leave my bed. My hangover is giving me every reason to move as little as possible and horizontal is most definitely the preferred stance on such matters. However, not moving doesn’t give me much room for entertainment and I’m currently bored. Do I move to find amusement but then coil in sadness at having to do said movement or stay in motionless joy cursing my attention deficit mind and inability to be satisfied with doing as little as possible? Its a conundrum that a lesser man would die rattling his brain over. I won’t be rattling my brain at all, though that’s partly because it was rattled through most of the evening and now would very much like to be left alone somewhere quiet. I did temporarily head downstairs at one point to make myself and my friend Jacqui a cuppa, but my dad decided it was an appropriate time to grind coffee beans in a coffee bean grinder thingy (I felt I should point out that’s what he did it in incase you all had odd images of him smacking the shit of out java with a hammer or attempting to grind them with an egg whisk and failing) and the result was a noise that quaked my very hungover soul and drove me back under the duvet. Jacqui is both a brilliant and yet irritating friend at times like these. This is all down to the fact she doesn’t drink. During the evening’s drinking she therefore becomes a very good carer of sorts. She makes sure you get home ok, don’t leave things in bars and generally makes sure no one dies. That’s all well and useful. However, the tables turn when you wake up the next day feeling like the sky is caving in on your mind, and she is all chirpy, happy and booze free. I react to this with a mix of sheer jealousy, hate and oddly respect for her sensible living.
Not only that but she has a sleeping bag suit which, as far as I’m concerned, should only be allowed for people with hangovers as its exactly what I need. Were I to be donned head to toe in full sleeping bag regalia then I could happily move towards somewhere with things to keep me entertained whilst convincing my body I’m definitely still in bed. I would be Derren Browning my own self. I’m still intent on getting an animal onesi, even more so now I’ve witnessed Jacqui’s sleeping bag suit and my brother showed me his full bear onesi from Japan that he now mostly lives in. I think this may be the fashion for the twenty teens or whatever we’re calling them. I hope that by the Olympics, Londoners will be confusing all the other nations by strutting round as an assortment of happy bears, lions and rabbits, while all our competing athletes kick away their starting blocks with their non slip leapord feet. This may well slow them down, but at least they’d be comfy and I think any disappointment from not winning would be easily ignored knowing they could lie down and sleep where ever they liked.
As you know, I try and not make this blog a mini-diary but often seem to fail and witter on about the happenings in my day due to lack of insight about anything else. On this occasion however its necessary to partly describe last night’s events in order to reflect on the stage I’m clearly at in my life. It was Mat’s 30th birthday drinks last night and the whole eve started all very civil at a very nice pub in the Kentish Town area. That’s right, Kentish Town. That’s how we roll. To slightly expensive areas which cleverly border the bourgeoisie and the bleak like a toff with a top hat but no shoes. It was after that that the oddness occurred. Not wanting the drinking to stop, the survivors – myself included- decided things needed to continue and therefore cabbery was called and the movement travelled to a club in Crouch End called ‘Moors’. I think its name refers to the ancient peoples rather than the place the Yorkshire Ripper took his victims, though on entering I was less sure. We were, baring in mind the recent age increase of our party, the youngest people in there. Surrounding us, was, as politely put by several of the crew, a ‘sausage fest’ of middle aged men and the occasional woman looking slightly worried about her safety. This went some way to explaining why men had to pay to get in and women didn’t, an idea that is hugely flawed by men’s inability to see this as a possible way of saying ‘there are too many men in this club’ rather than ‘it must be packed full of ladies if they can just stroll in’. When will we learn? It appears, never.
They played some excellent old school tunes, but witnessing a South African rugby team of big men lollop around as though their bones had been magically turned to jelly can pretty much ruin any moment of realisation that they are playing something you haven’t heard in years. Much fun was had, largely due to our group being enough that we could ward away ne’er do wells and ne’er very wells, and also because shots were involved. Drinking kind I mean. I didn’t get so upset with the state of things that I got violent, though it’d have kept things interesting. There was talk of drinking games at various points, mostly by Jacqui who doesn’t play them due to her non-drinking and therefore witnesses everyone around her slowly die. It dawns on me more and more how evil and manipulative these non-drinkers are. I abstained from said games and just played my favourite drinking pursuit called ‘drink when I like’. This involves me drinking exactly when I want to drink. I’m very good at it and tend to always win. Last night I definitely got the gold.
What upset me though, was the realisation that this is perhaps the sort of club I am now destined to go to. Long have the days of clubbing till 6am surrounded by youthful vibrancy passed me by and instead am I now confined to watching small mustachioed sexual predators grind away at the air as though eventually the atmosphere will give in and let them take it home? I really hope not. I’d like to think this was a one off and my next foray into the world of late night music indulgence will be in amongst 20 somethings and beautiful people strutting like they know how. Saying that, I was able to sit down last night and chat to my friends as the music wasn’t too loud which was nice. OH GOD WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?
I’m going to go back to bed and pray that when I wake up I’ll have somehow become 25 again. Sigh.