Will it be fun, to read about hapiness?
As I was leaving the building to buy a sandwich for lunch, a wave of happiness drowned me by surprise. I haven't experienced bliss in such a way for a very long time and, although it stopped as soon as I reached the overcrowded Tesco at Elephant and Castle's shopping centre, its fading vibrations still reminisce in my soul.
Perhaps it happened to me because I involuntarily thought about yesterday night. I went to Tim Lovejoy and the Allstars, the TV programme in Sky One. miss_s_p_ace got nominu, Lina and myself on the guestlist and we ostensibly made a point of that as we walk, sex and the city-like to the front of the queue of St Luke's church. Once inside, various people tried to spoil our happiness:
The guestlist manager, by giving us only stamps rather than beautiful and powerful fluorescent green bracelets that could have taken us through secret passages and billiard rooms to that place where the Cluedo murder was committed.
The people behind the bar, by putting stupid prices to drinks and jeopardizing the whole show because, as wise miss_s_p_ace pointed out, drunkenness is a requirement to be on the crowds of this show.
The crowds-coordinator, by shouting: "Don't put your hand with the beer up. Raise the other one. Otherwise we will look like a bunch of pisseheads!", which we were. He also tried to makes us work and enjoy too much, in the same manner as my Legs Bums and Tums teacher. Iddleness is much cooler but apparently, doesn't look great on TV.
Tim Lovejoy, by wearing what he was wearing. I can't describe it. It was pretty or transgressive or interesting. Just more like an old man's neck scarf on a grey average sweater. He must have forgotten he was on TV, not on radio. anyway, I couldn't look at him for more than 10 seconds without having my taste sense pierced by small, electrically charged, acupuncture needles.
Paul Gascoigne, by simply being himself and asking everyone to call him G8 because it resembles the text spelling of the word great. (This one nearly made all the happiness run away in a hurry). G8 also sported a not too charming dyed hair-cum-goatee style but I don't think anyone noticed due to the attire of the interviewer. At least the set was matching, I'll give them that.
Snow Patrol for not showing up. Although The Bees, who sang instead, were pretty cool to watch.
In fact, the music, the company and the carefree drunkenness of miss_s_p_ace were by far the best thing. Sometimes one-song gigs interspersed with a bit of TV, wine and pretty girls to giggle with are just pure pleasure.
And if I did not feel lucky enough, when I got home at midnight, a gorgeous neil_scott was there to hand me little pieces of warm garlic bread. Now it was perfection.
Perhaps it happened to me because I involuntarily thought about yesterday night. I went to Tim Lovejoy and the Allstars, the TV programme in Sky One. miss_s_p_ace got nominu, Lina and myself on the guestlist and we ostensibly made a point of that as we walk, sex and the city-like to the front of the queue of St Luke's church. Once inside, various people tried to spoil our happiness:
The guestlist manager, by giving us only stamps rather than beautiful and powerful fluorescent green bracelets that could have taken us through secret passages and billiard rooms to that place where the Cluedo murder was committed.
The people behind the bar, by putting stupid prices to drinks and jeopardizing the whole show because, as wise miss_s_p_ace pointed out, drunkenness is a requirement to be on the crowds of this show.
The crowds-coordinator, by shouting: "Don't put your hand with the beer up. Raise the other one. Otherwise we will look like a bunch of pisseheads!", which we were. He also tried to makes us work and enjoy too much, in the same manner as my Legs Bums and Tums teacher. Iddleness is much cooler but apparently, doesn't look great on TV.
Tim Lovejoy, by wearing what he was wearing. I can't describe it. It was pretty or transgressive or interesting. Just more like an old man's neck scarf on a grey average sweater. He must have forgotten he was on TV, not on radio. anyway, I couldn't look at him for more than 10 seconds without having my taste sense pierced by small, electrically charged, acupuncture needles.
Paul Gascoigne, by simply being himself and asking everyone to call him G8 because it resembles the text spelling of the word great. (This one nearly made all the happiness run away in a hurry). G8 also sported a not too charming dyed hair-cum-goatee style but I don't think anyone noticed due to the attire of the interviewer. At least the set was matching, I'll give them that.
Snow Patrol for not showing up. Although The Bees, who sang instead, were pretty cool to watch.
In fact, the music, the company and the carefree drunkenness of miss_s_p_ace were by far the best thing. Sometimes one-song gigs interspersed with a bit of TV, wine and pretty girls to giggle with are just pure pleasure.
And if I did not feel lucky enough, when I got home at midnight, a gorgeous neil_scott was there to hand me little pieces of warm garlic bread. Now it was perfection.