Friday Night: End of Term Boozing

Extended post: Foz & Dan both rebuked me on Monday for not posting about Friday night immediately. What shameless vanity, but since I clearly thrive on such egoism, I shall post as requested.

I’ve just got home

It is 6:30 in the morning

I’m fucking starving and just returned from Dan’s semi-drunken, mini-tour of South London via Clapham Common looking for a cafe open at this ungodly hour.

Am too wired and tired to type now need burger going to bed.

Later:

My entire knowledge of Clapham Common is that its largely full of rapists and murders. Dan cuts through a corner of the park and assures me protection. I’m fairly dubious of this offer.

We only saw the occasional passer-by and Dan suggests that everyone up at this time ought to have a sign that states exactly why the fuck they’ve been out so late. We suggest our signs would be ‘Unsuccessful poof on the brink and les on the verge looking for burger’.

This was the climax of a very, very long day in the best possible way. We were taking the show down today, its our last official course day and the day we get the results. Excitement runs high.

The morning after Thursday night’s truly disturbing drunken-porno-rubbish discussed (it’s always either porn or poo: Our two staple favorites) the most hung over of us just look at each other and giggle sheepishly. Foz & Dan throw sporadic ‘screwing the bolts’ and ‘drilling’ puns at me all morning as Geoff wanders around in his usual fluffy way, clueless to all the in-jokes.

Foz and Dan finally having nothing left to hide came out of their respective closets and admitted they wanted to join the two pathways, illustration and photography by sealing it with the physical expression of their own mutual love. While they teased me about Geoff, I in turn spent all morning with visions of them as a gay couple in coitus firmly in mind. So the morning went by fairly quickly I’d say.

You see?? It’s the tutors that lead me astray. I was so clean minded before our tutors filled my fragile eggshell mind with junk.

Onnalin and Fernanda who never went home hadn’t changed clothes. Their outfits, which last night looked very glamorous, today look a tad (very) disheveled. I am told that Onnalin reeked of booze and at mid-day reports came back via Martyn that she had to throw-up in her handbag on the tube. Then carried her hand bag, puke and all, home with her. Reports state that she still hasn’t washed it.

We walk to Holborn from the Mall and then are smuggled in the back of empty van like illegal immigrants. Jet slams the door shut, dying to get a move on. There are no windows and we sit on the floor in the pitch dark. Foz immediately takes out his phone and plays with it (just so the screen lights up). He then goes off on one of his bi-monthly rants about Camberwell, hippies and wet-lettuces (I’ve never heard the phrase wet-lettuce before but I really like it with regards to hippies.)

The ex shows up out of the blue, leaning against a tree at some point during the day. Came to see the show. What show? Too late, no? I returned the equipment I borrowed. The ex left. I went back to the que of people loading the van (how English, if I was back in Mumbai we’d just be chucking boards in left and right like maniacs). Astrid with perfect slapstick timing whacked me on the back of the head with a large wall. Foz looking pleased, praised Astrid, remarking what a good person I was to hit in the head (true, very true).

At 4pm we head off to get our marks. I’ve avoided thinking about it all day and I oscillate between complete indifference to raging nerves. Anna and I make a pact to pretend we are totally satisfied with whatever we get (yeah right). Our repression skills are on top form.

The list up on the board is very complicated with no names, only ID numbers. I scan for mine, recheck it, check it again and am thrilled!!!! Yay!!! I generally hate opening the result letter cold, that horrible but exciting suspense like when Charlie opens a Wonka bar, but now emboldened by the notice board I eagerly wait in line outside the office.

There are various people with slightly longer faces around me but nearly 50% of the illustrators get distinctions (which lessens my joy but am I going to be picky? I think not)

The tutors return, no doubt anxious about the barrage of abuse they are expecting from those fundamentally dissatisfied with their marks. I don’t know if they did get any abuse but we finish unloading the last van, freshen up, hug people and drag the tutors, the long faced people and all us super cool illustrators off to the pub.

Sardhna came out for a minute while we were standing outside the Ivy to talk to Foz as he was once again cordoned off and isolated from the other pathways by the very possessive illustrators.

The entire group of 10 people around Foz stop talking and just look at her expectantly…..What does she want? Why is she here? Is she trying to take him away from us? Quick set the Mexican chihuahua on her! (The little chihuahua has been up 24 hours now, and is wilting quietly as she sits on the pavement drinking). Sardhna looks a bit startled at all the sudden semi-hostile interest in her.

By 11 Adam is so drunk that his eyes have lost focus and says some very lewd, rude things to me and others (and not in a good way). Martyn and Simeon sit on the pub sofa, have discussed gardening and then both go home.

The remainder are invited to continue the drinking at the typography tutor’s studio in Waterloo (yet again the ‘free beer’ lure is deployed and we’re only too eager to take the bait). Astrid asks, no insists we make Foz come as well (always with the girls, always. Lucky bastard). Dan ditches the photographers yet again for his little honey bunny snookie-wookums and we all weave our way to 2 cabs.

The minute we arrive there, the type tutor and his very rude flatmate/friend/twat throw us out again. There is no free beer to boot. Figures, from a fucking typographer. You can never trust a their idea of a party. Buzz kills. Who ends a party at midnight? Shocking.

But do we give up and go home?? Hell no.

Do we drink our livers silly?? Hell yes!

Why you ask? Because we’re art students that’s why!

We follow someone (either Dan or Foz) into a tiny small corridor of a bar which ‘accidentally’ turns out to be gay. ‘Accidentally’, of course.

Dan comes running back from the counter, his little face alight with excitement

“Oh my god! I just got hit on!! This place is a gay bar! No it really is, he was a big Scottish guy with dreads and he was like man I’m staying in this awesome place you should come over and see my chandelier! and then this other guy was like can I ask you a question don’t get offended…. but are you gay? and I was like why would I be offended? and he said look around you, this is a gay bar!!”

Dan was scandalized. After all, he’s no tart. He wants romance, luurving, cuddles, you know.. the good stuff before he views a mans chandelier.

Other than that he was sooooooooo happy. Guys were groping his cute lil’ ass and rubbing his back all night. He kept disappearing to the loo as well….so suspicious that.

By the end of the night both he and Foz were running off to the loos simultaneously. The Firecracker thankfully isn’t there to see this. Sharing is not her strong point.

Anna and Uhr began a ludicrous drinking competition at the start of the evening, vowing to match each other drink for drink. Uhr is double Anna’s body weight and height, an unfair match it would seem. By 3 o clock both are drinking water. Uhr sits outside staring at the pavement for ages. We can safely assume that Anna was the winner since she was still smiling and semi functional. Slovenia is throughly shamed.

At 3:30am Uhr trolls in like an Eastern European Frankenstein and mutters “Foz Anna gone for walk to park”. The park is closed I say, its 3 in the morning. He says nothing, only blinks and lumbers back out again.

Slanderous gossip begins to be whispered among us. Georgina, Dan and I shake our wise old heads and tsk at this highly suspect behavior on their part. Dan is so hurt. How could Foz abandon him? Did everything Foz said in the committee meeting mean nothing?? Did he just use him for sex and then throw him away??

We call eventually and are told our ever professional, responsible tutor is throwing up somewhere along the Southbank with Anna, can we call back later?

Dan bursts into tears. If anyone had to hold back Foz’s hair as he threw up it should have been him not Anna! I had to comfort Dan as best I can. Foz loves you really I said. It’s just a one-off thing with Anna I said. He just needs to get it out of his system. He’ll come back to you, they always do I said. Your ass is just too cute to resist. Foz is a fool I added.

Dan thought of his bootilicious ass and stopped crying at once. An hour later A & F wander back in and are welcomed with open arms by all. Georgina looks mighty relieved.

I seemed to burn loads of things, my top, Dans jacket, the kitchen, my skirt, the carpet, Which is fitting since I am supposed to worship the god of fire. I really ought to stay away from anything flammable. Eoghan, being a Catholic, trades religious insults with me across the bar. I’m so taking him to hell with me when I go. Fire and Satan is on my side.

Dan & I being hardcore south Londoners, stick around in the bar long after the softies from Crouch End and Stoke Newington (the lesbian mecca) have wobbled off home. The bar finally kicks us out after some random woman insists shes seen me on TV. Dan tells her I’m on Eastenders.

We run to catch the train to Clapham Junction from Waterloo, sit in first class as Dan tries to get me to trade one of my drawings for one of his photography class’s catalogs.

What a cheap skate!

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2 thoughts on “Friday Night: End of Term Boozing

  1. Sometimes planning one’s allotment just seems preferable to celebrating, especially when you’ve deluded yourself that you’ve somehow been condemned to the bargain-bin. Curiously, one week later I seem to be massively over-qualified. Funny old thing, life, innit?

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