I seem to have a lot of writing to catch up on.
Unlike writing a non-electronic journal where for some reason I feel as though ever single moment must be accurately and minutely jotted down, here I am content to largely skip out on all the niggly pointless details [which are many] and just make up the rest as I go along.
So it is fortunate that when I went out with the ex and co. a few weeks ago the tedious bits are largely forgotten but the main drama remains crystal clear.
Spent a monumentally dull day [as always] at the Gulag [Savoy Tailors Guild] staring outside the window and watching Charis, who in a freakish moment of Macgyver-ism managed to fish out a stubborn book that had dropped behind a drawer with only cellotape wrapped around a ruler and a determined will.
Dragged Macgyver off to Gordon’s Wine Bar, one of the few places in central London that has suitable outside seating ideal for smokers.
Naturally, there were no seats.
Like a proper desi ghat I plonked my ass on the floor but Charis wearing a stylish jacket and trousers spread out a newspaper to perch upon gingerly [He likes to take care of his ‘garms’ he tells me]. The ex called to scold me for giving such poor directions to Gordon’s Wine Bar. [My directions were crystal clear as a matter of fact or so I am convinced]
Then Amar [the ex’s pal] showed up and proceeded over the course of a bottle and a half of wine to wind the ex up to a point where they were both kept calling each other ‘bitch!’ and smacking each other over the head as we walked down to a Mcdonald’s [groan]. They both were now insisting enthusiastically that they wanted to go to a club [double groan].
So off we went, the 2 retarded brats still smacking, shoving and swearing at each other drunkenly as we cross the street “Shut up bitch!” “You shut up bitch” “Bitch!” “Bitch!” [so dangerous tsk tsk], while occasionally I was the unwilling recipient of some of these shoves and smacks.
At some point, for no reason at all the ex imagines Amar are conspiring together [such paranoia] and throws a massive strop and then walks off in a huff [which is worrying because Amar has to spend the night at the ex’s but I politely offer the use of my couch/spare bed in Brixton if he finds himself suddenly homeless].
Amar and I chase the ex to Trafalgar Sq where there’s some desi lurve fest with dancers running up and down ropes on the side of Nelsons column [although the 2 main dancers were firangs what the fuck man?].
The ex rejects my olive branch and walks off again [I reiterate that so far I have done nothing and I blame it all on good wine and Amar’s rotten influence on the ex].
Annoyed at this unwarranted abuse I then walk off in a huff. The ex then chases me [Well calls me anyway, but only to accuse me of throwing a tantrum. Me?!!!]. I make a difficult decicion to continue storming off to the tube or return and sulk in person over alcohol. I choose the latter as its a far better guilt trip.
Amar desperately tries to mediate between us fighting lurve birds so that we all can just go get drunk, a truly noble aim. We sulk our way to ‘The Jewel Bar’ as the ex calms down and attempts an apology. I passive aggressively accept the apology but continue to sulk for the next hour.
After a few drinks I quit sulking and we all boogie baby.
The Jewel Bar is ideally placed for all drunken tourists at the traffic light hub that is now Piccadilly Circus.
As a general rule anything around Leicester Sq and Piccadilly Circus must be avoided at all costs. From the crowded streets full of idiots to the over priced shops, the vile McDonald’s to the hideously decorated bars. Especially the hideously decorated bars which are usually filled to the brim with complete and total twats desperate to get laid before they catch the 10:30 am flight from Heathrow the next morning. The bars are a no-go area for any self respecting London dweller.
I must admit The Jewel Bar on this occasion was a pleasant exception. No crowd, place to sit, relatively reasonable ££. Even the decor was decent. [Perhaps in the daylight all the jewel encrusted walls might be a bit gaudy but you’re pissed I’m pissed so who gives a fuck?]
At 1:30am when Jewel closed its sparkly doors and kicked us out. Being an aged old woman I insisted on going home. This did not please the ex who wanted to hunt for another club with Amar [another internal groan]. I cheerfully [and rather smartly I might add] declined to ‘club hunt’ and took a cab to the ex’s.
Smartly I say because the ex and Amar then squandered a futile and useless half hour wandering the streets looking for a club that would let them in. Failing this the ex came home very very cranky and annoyed indeed [a cab suddenly wasn’t so easy to find] while Amar ran off to smoke a spliff at some pals place.
I completely and totally blame Amar for all the huffing and puffing on this evening. He’s clearly a bad influence.