I would like to request no more conversations about heterosexuality
Summaries:
Friday morning, left for ~Camden with Jess. Had chai latte. Had bubble tea. Went and got my cartilage pierced. Actually argued with Cars about where I wanted it placed instead of just rolling over as I have in the past. Jess noted he sounds very much like he has spoken to a lot of idiot teenagers (he's a piercer, that seems: likely). Bade farewell to Jess, met up with Ian-from-home. Took him to a pub that seemed appropriate; was reminded that since he is from my hometown he, too, does not beer and only ciders.
Went to a different pub. Caught up on his work (he's an actor), plans (screenwriting), went through a script treatment of his and tried to help him with the structure and characterisation (it's police procedural supernatural horror which, y'know, I have been reading up on a lot recently so hopefully was able to do SOMETHING). Took the man in question up to the market for lunch (veggie burrito on my part, with the cheerful understanding that, hygiene standards at the markets being what they are, it was probably going to make me mildly ill later), and to Cyberdog and specifically the risible Cyberdog sex shop to make fun of the Vag In A Can and the Vibrator Disguised As Lipstick for EMERGENCY WANKS.
Walked into Central, via several shops/cafes, mainly stopping in them because I was fucking cold. Perspective management: as one of the people who knew my mother for a long time he basically confirmed no, you are not exaggerating, she was crazy and annoying and no one liked her, we liked you, we felt sorry for you. Also apparently one of my neighbours died ten years ago and no one has mentioned this to me. I used to babysit his kids.
Stopped briefly into Gosh and saw Kieron which turned out to be handy as I didn't have time to go to the Phonogram thing later. Was regaled with lengthy tales of Girl Problems. This is to become a theme, because Straight Cis Men Confide In Me is a theme.
Walked to Broadcasting House at his behest. Helped some tourists find their way to Victoria. ("That was not very London of you," said Ian, "You expressed concern for another person!") Went to another pub. Declined the invitation to go to the Globe Bar for proper cider, and set off to the Phonogram Launch Afterparty/Wake. Arrived in King's Cross, checked location on Facebook, realised it started half an hour after I thought and therefore there was no reasonable way to put in an appearance and also get a train to Brighton at what I deemed to be a sensible time (in hindsight I could probably have done it).
Got on a train. Slightly drunkenly wrote porn in a notebook most of the way there while eating Korean squid flavoured puffy snacks, which were excellent, and listening with one ear (as can't put pressure on that side because of those piercings?) to drunk people trying to flirt and fight with each other.
Once in Brighton autopiloted myself to a bar I'd been to basically only once before. Installed myself behind the decks. Spent the rest of the night playing Hot or Not with the clientele in my head and talking to Phil, with some dancing. Made the cardinal error of "pacing myself", meaning I was much less drunk than everyone else.
Left at ... fourish ... and dropped stuff at Phil's in the midst of a long conversation about the precise delineation of "neutral, lawful, and chaotic" and why it was a good thing that he hadn't kissed the (very drunk) girl that he fancies. Went for all-night breakfast in the company of some horrendous gay stereotypes; long conversation about a) girl problems, b) borderline personality and how either of us think he has ended up with it [affectionate but not very good parenting] and c) the dumb effects that particular mental illness has. ("I've noticed I don't really... have a consistent self, I just steal things from other people. I just reflect the people I'm around.")
Slept on the floor for a couple of hours until the cold got too much then went home. Almost home when I got a text from Muffy asking if I was still in Brighton. Had some tea, typed up notes, gradually managed to clean my ear and have a shower, left for South London.
Got to the hospital a little after four, feeling like I ought to be on a ward myself. Explained Dating Maths on the whiteboard in the room we were in. Watched Doug and Alasdair play wildly competitive Jenga. Left for the pub. Pub filled up with people, some of whom I'd not seen in a very long time (NeilDave, Nathan); conversations meandered through clubbing safety, how much everyone hates the press, sportsball, the dating lives of strangers, food (had a fucking excellent pearl barley risotto), Huel (I didn't start this, even), and the like.
Arrived home just before midnight.
Further quotations, divorced from context:
"The more I hear about your mother the more she sounds like a total piece of work."
"There is something fundamentally wrong with your family. I don't just mean they're weird. Everyone's family is weird. I mean there's something WRONG with them."
"Yes but you're NOT horrible. All our friends are, I just mean... you're no more horrible."
Friday morning, left for ~Camden with Jess. Had chai latte. Had bubble tea. Went and got my cartilage pierced. Actually argued with Cars about where I wanted it placed instead of just rolling over as I have in the past. Jess noted he sounds very much like he has spoken to a lot of idiot teenagers (he's a piercer, that seems: likely). Bade farewell to Jess, met up with Ian-from-home. Took him to a pub that seemed appropriate; was reminded that since he is from my hometown he, too, does not beer and only ciders.
Went to a different pub. Caught up on his work (he's an actor), plans (screenwriting), went through a script treatment of his and tried to help him with the structure and characterisation (it's police procedural supernatural horror which, y'know, I have been reading up on a lot recently so hopefully was able to do SOMETHING). Took the man in question up to the market for lunch (veggie burrito on my part, with the cheerful understanding that, hygiene standards at the markets being what they are, it was probably going to make me mildly ill later), and to Cyberdog and specifically the risible Cyberdog sex shop to make fun of the Vag In A Can and the Vibrator Disguised As Lipstick for EMERGENCY WANKS.
Walked into Central, via several shops/cafes, mainly stopping in them because I was fucking cold. Perspective management: as one of the people who knew my mother for a long time he basically confirmed no, you are not exaggerating, she was crazy and annoying and no one liked her, we liked you, we felt sorry for you. Also apparently one of my neighbours died ten years ago and no one has mentioned this to me. I used to babysit his kids.
Stopped briefly into Gosh and saw Kieron which turned out to be handy as I didn't have time to go to the Phonogram thing later. Was regaled with lengthy tales of Girl Problems. This is to become a theme, because Straight Cis Men Confide In Me is a theme.
Walked to Broadcasting House at his behest. Helped some tourists find their way to Victoria. ("That was not very London of you," said Ian, "You expressed concern for another person!") Went to another pub. Declined the invitation to go to the Globe Bar for proper cider, and set off to the Phonogram Launch Afterparty/Wake. Arrived in King's Cross, checked location on Facebook, realised it started half an hour after I thought and therefore there was no reasonable way to put in an appearance and also get a train to Brighton at what I deemed to be a sensible time (in hindsight I could probably have done it).
Got on a train. Slightly drunkenly wrote porn in a notebook most of the way there while eating Korean squid flavoured puffy snacks, which were excellent, and listening with one ear (as can't put pressure on that side because of those piercings?) to drunk people trying to flirt and fight with each other.
Once in Brighton autopiloted myself to a bar I'd been to basically only once before. Installed myself behind the decks. Spent the rest of the night playing Hot or Not with the clientele in my head and talking to Phil, with some dancing. Made the cardinal error of "pacing myself", meaning I was much less drunk than everyone else.
Left at ... fourish ... and dropped stuff at Phil's in the midst of a long conversation about the precise delineation of "neutral, lawful, and chaotic" and why it was a good thing that he hadn't kissed the (very drunk) girl that he fancies. Went for all-night breakfast in the company of some horrendous gay stereotypes; long conversation about a) girl problems, b) borderline personality and how either of us think he has ended up with it [affectionate but not very good parenting] and c) the dumb effects that particular mental illness has. ("I've noticed I don't really... have a consistent self, I just steal things from other people. I just reflect the people I'm around.")
Slept on the floor for a couple of hours until the cold got too much then went home. Almost home when I got a text from Muffy asking if I was still in Brighton. Had some tea, typed up notes, gradually managed to clean my ear and have a shower, left for South London.
Got to the hospital a little after four, feeling like I ought to be on a ward myself. Explained Dating Maths on the whiteboard in the room we were in. Watched Doug and Alasdair play wildly competitive Jenga. Left for the pub. Pub filled up with people, some of whom I'd not seen in a very long time (NeilDave, Nathan); conversations meandered through clubbing safety, how much everyone hates the press, sportsball, the dating lives of strangers, food (had a fucking excellent pearl barley risotto), Huel (I didn't start this, even), and the like.
Arrived home just before midnight.
Further quotations, divorced from context:
"The more I hear about your mother the more she sounds like a total piece of work."
"There is something fundamentally wrong with your family. I don't just mean they're weird. Everyone's family is weird. I mean there's something WRONG with them."
"Yes but you're NOT horrible. All our friends are, I just mean... you're no more horrible."