Ordinary Life is Pretty Complicated Stuff
I think there's something in the water at the moment.
Let's, for the sake of a label, call him Travis, although that's not his name. He was looking glum the other day, and my first assumption was that he had split up from his girlfriend. Nope, the reason was more life changing than that, and suddenly I'm called upon to give advice I feel distinctly unqualified to give. Walking back home from the Doves with NW, we were chatting about whether we'd given the right advice to Travis, and whether we'd given him too much of a hard time, and I also inadvertantly indicated that come Sunday night I'd be in need of a shoulder. Although I also said that I probably wouldn't be able to talk about it.
This is called foreshadowing.
God I'm getting bored with dramatic irony in real life.
The next day I went up to London, to see Clerks II - which is unlikely to get a local showing - with N, and hopefully to meet up with JK - someone who I'd not seen, aside from at the Banks conference, in twelve or thirteen years. I had hoped we'd have the chance to go and do a maze on Saturday - but N had already indicated there was some unfinished business he had to attend to this end, and I think this is something (the) two of us should do. It was drizzling, so doing a maze perhaps wasn't likely to have been a goer either.
I was to meet JK at 3pm in Waterstones Piccadilly coffee bar, which has by now become my traditional daytime remdezvous point, and I didn't quite have enough time to get to either of the Tates, and wasn't in the mood for the National Gallery. Instead I trudged through Borders, HMV and Virgin without much sense of inspiration, and was just approaching Piccadilly when JK txted to say he'd be late. Well, I know London Time is always fluid, and that I could sit for a while nursing a coffee anyway.
What I hadn't banked on is U2, who supposedly have a Secret Signing Session at noon, but who were clearly still gearing up to do it, three hours later. I noticed the lifts were cordoned off, but I assumed this was just to monitor the people going upstairs to wherever the signing was, in the pop music section presumably.
Of course, these international save-the-planet rock stars just have to go and do the signing in the fifth floor coffee bar, and of course there's nothing to indicate this until you've climbed all the way up to the fourth floor. I txt JK, and meet him outside.
We adjourn to a Caffe Nerd, and chat over a couple of cappucinos for a couple of hours, then wander down to the Chandos where I've arranged to meet N. Of course, I'd made the mistake of assuming that someone who lives in zone 6 would know their way around the West End, and would know that Cannon Street Station is not Charing X, and that Nelson's Bloody Column was a big enough fragging landmark to navigate by. I also hadn't taken into account that St Martin's has red hordings at the front, as well as the back, and so passing them on your right is not a useful direction, although in restrospect passing the, on your left is the route I would have taken had I been coming from the Strand. Five phone calls later, he finally located the Chandos, and I him.
We had time for a couple more drinks, and N and JK took to each other - it's always gratifying when people from different circles get on - and after JK went we had a chance to discuss the unifinished business that needed to happen the next day.
Then we went across to the Vue, where I'd booked tickets in case it was a sell out - as it happened, there were only about twelve people in the cinema. Gratifying numbers of them even stopped right to the end, for the listing of thousands of people on the credits.
I'm not sure what I think about the film yet. I saw Clerks ten years ago, with CC, and loved it, and have loved each of the movies since then, although I've not really gotten to grips with Jersey Girl, and bought the comic books and some of the action figures and... well verged on the Kevin Smith obsessive. At times. NW always gets confused about an intellectual liking dick and fart gags, but where's the contradiction? It can't match the moment of that original film, and in a sense I think Dante's drama about how to get out of his rut is almost Smith's own story of the attempt to grow as a film maker. I should write a proper review I guess. I certainly laughed, but the twists were too telegraphed. I think N enjoyed it more than I did - which is probably also true of Jersey Girl.
We walked back down to Charing X, and ironically I could have caught a train back to west, although my ticket would not have been valid. We managed to make the right bus connections in the Orpington area, and got back to his by half twelve. We both retired - I was shattered, and he had to be up for work. The next day I read A Hat Full of Sky whilst half watching the Ryder Cup, waiting for N to get back from work so we could travel back up together. I popped out to buy him his cigarettes - this week has not done his giving up any good.
Everything went like clockwork at first, although I was initially uncomfortable about him reading something I'd written in front of me, and not at all comfortable about it apparently sending him to sleep. At F it nearly all went pear-shaped, as usually it is the carriages at the rear of the train for East, and so we nearly ended up at the seaside. We got to the right carriage by the skin of our teeth, and did a bit of shopping when we eventually got back.
Then we went our separate ways, he to do what needed to be done, me to catch up on a couple of things I've taped and then pop down to see Martin at the Doves, and see what Travis was up to. I got a couple of calls from N, first to borrow money, and then to cover his tab instead. No problem. As it happened, he'd left the Bell& before I got there, so we passed in the night, but I still cleared the tab. I ended up chatting to G after he'd finished serving, and he noted that he'd felt a growing sense of Gloom and Despondency over the summer as we'd been playing chess. I explained as much as I can say freely, but there are too many confidences tied up in it for full disclose to him, or here. We also talked about the Travis situation, and we both think he's a bloody idiot. We retired to G's flat to watch a couple of episodes of Black Books, and I got home about 4.30. That I could have done without. We've also talked about getting exercise together, though that didn't happen today for various reasons.
It had been one of those nights where I'd drunk more than I thought, or got psychologically rather than physically mullered. Perhaps I just ended up taking it too fast - or it was odd eating times. Or the mood of the day. I do think my tongue was too lose, but we will see what transpires from that. I woke in time to hear BH, and the second half of The Archers, and checked the email. Then the phone rang at noon, and it was another mate in another crisis. As I say, there's something in the water. I dispensed the advice that I feel singularly ill-equipped to give, and then spent an hour trying to locate a duty roster for chemists and talking to Mr Boot. After that, I wasn't in the mood for country walks, so watched the end of Low Winter Sun and the first episode of the new series of Wire in the Blood, and lightened things up by dipping into The Aristocrats.
I fear a visit to the pub is inevitable. And maybe I do need to track NW down.