It is always a pleasant surprise when you walk to a bus stop and there are people there you happen to know.
It is even pleasanter when those people happen to be Onnalin and Martyn holding 4 dead chickens and a bag of potatoes.
Kingsland road is a scary place.
I don’t fucking care if it’s in zone one, it’s a fucking ghetto (and this is where Camille lives).
So Onnalin, Martyn and I are buzzed in and we drag the chickens up to Camille’s, which is a massive loft flat in this warehouse.
After about 3 hours of basting, stuffing and poking by Onnalin (class chef and resident foodie) the chickens were finally done. Everyone was fairly plastered by then, and much like a Natural Geographic Special, we attacked the poor chickens like ravenous hyenas. They were gone in minutes.
In between Martyn raving about Georgina’s digital camera
“WOW! These pictures are fantastic! Another one! It’s fantastic!! They are all fantastic!!”
he was also drunk enough to admit,
“I have to say actually, Foz does have a really lovely smile…”
He now denys this.
Bruna insisted Uhr was stalking her because when ever she turned around he was there.
She then spent 5 minutes petting my head. (Yes, I think she was a bit pissed)
I have a small related whine here: Delusional iPod DJ’s.
Highly annoying. Halfway through a song, some idiot thinking they can do better and wow us all with their taste in music, will change it. This happened continually at the party. My poor iPod was cast aside and plugged in, alternatively every 5 minutes or so until it’s battery died in protest.
Most of the class was at the party, including a whole bunch of random people who turned up at 1:00 am out of the blue. Camille suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, turning up the next day in the flat on the first floor.
She walked into her flat the next morning and instead of viewing a very lovely mess of cigarette butts and garbage, everything had been cleaned by Georgina and Mike who felt too guilty to leave without cleaning.
I’m so glad I left at 2:30 I must admit. Cleanup duty is really rotten.
Anyway, at about 2:30 I began the trek to the ex’s flat (The ex refused to accompany me on grounds of general lethargy).
Right next to Camille’s front door is a club with a que of drunken, dolled up people.
A little further down the road a group of girls were crying and screaming as 2 boys chased and beat each other up right in the middle of a traffic filled road. Two cops arrested them promptly. (Don’t you just love the East end at night?)
I mistakenly ran to catch an over crowded bus full of pasty red faced ‘lads’ while the very surly buss driver cursed, swore, muttered to himself and refused to let me off at my stop.
I had to take another bus back 5 stops.
The bad tempered bastard.
I hate winter.