LONDON: 1/26/11
So tickets for the NME Shockwave Awards were not acquired this morning.
But you know what? I'm gonna be going to plenty of those when I'm a famous producer/writer so whatever! It's not like I would have gotten to meet anyone famous anyway; and getting home would have been an expensive nightmare. I'm looking at the positives: waking up early to get the tickets may not have resulted in actual tickets but it did get me off to Camden where I procured an authentic red leather jacket for £70 (and a half-priced £11 purple t-shirt with rhine stones in the shape of a lightning bolt). How did that happen? Well...
The Saga of the Red Leather Jacket
On one side of the street were the Eastern European goth-owned shops. The other side were the sportier Arabic-owned shops. I go to the Arabic stores, where I am still fairly sure most of it was acquired through dubious means but hey that's Camden. Everything's like at least £150. This one shop has THE jacket and it's £175. I say sorry, and try the goths.
The goths all have incredibly goth names like Vlad, Natalya, Ice, etc. Initially the room is this tiny space LINED with clothes. When I couldn't find a jacket, the owner says to Natalya, "Show her to the basement." It is at this point I am convinced I'm going to die. She then OPENS THE WALL of pants to reveal stairs. We head down and I don't see anything. Bring her to Vlad, he says then. So she opens up another wall of collars and belts and more stairs. I go up and there is a room of leather things. "Vlad" is a goth with a ponty tail and piercings practically in his eyeballs and that feeling of my immediate mortality returns. I say oops no, sorry, and book it (no red leather jackets to be found).
So I head back to THE jacket. "Oh you my best friend cuz you come back!" says the Arabic man. He puts a hand around my waist and goes, "You so pretty; I want to make you happy. Here, you student? £100." No, sorry. "I make you happy, I make you happy. £70." OKAY! Bought. "You tell your friends, bring more ladies!" Okay Borat.
Thus ends the tale. Afterwards I got some real Italian coffee and a croissant with Italian chocolate spread....praise be to Italia.
And did I mention I dyed my hair black last night?? I look fab, I can tell you that.
But you know what? I'm gonna be going to plenty of those when I'm a famous producer/writer so whatever! It's not like I would have gotten to meet anyone famous anyway; and getting home would have been an expensive nightmare. I'm looking at the positives: waking up early to get the tickets may not have resulted in actual tickets but it did get me off to Camden where I procured an authentic red leather jacket for £70 (and a half-priced £11 purple t-shirt with rhine stones in the shape of a lightning bolt). How did that happen? Well...
The Saga of the Red Leather Jacket
On one side of the street were the Eastern European goth-owned shops. The other side were the sportier Arabic-owned shops. I go to the Arabic stores, where I am still fairly sure most of it was acquired through dubious means but hey that's Camden. Everything's like at least £150. This one shop has THE jacket and it's £175. I say sorry, and try the goths.
The goths all have incredibly goth names like Vlad, Natalya, Ice, etc. Initially the room is this tiny space LINED with clothes. When I couldn't find a jacket, the owner says to Natalya, "Show her to the basement." It is at this point I am convinced I'm going to die. She then OPENS THE WALL of pants to reveal stairs. We head down and I don't see anything. Bring her to Vlad, he says then. So she opens up another wall of collars and belts and more stairs. I go up and there is a room of leather things. "Vlad" is a goth with a ponty tail and piercings practically in his eyeballs and that feeling of my immediate mortality returns. I say oops no, sorry, and book it (no red leather jackets to be found).
So I head back to THE jacket. "Oh you my best friend cuz you come back!" says the Arabic man. He puts a hand around my waist and goes, "You so pretty; I want to make you happy. Here, you student? £100." No, sorry. "I make you happy, I make you happy. £70." OKAY! Bought. "You tell your friends, bring more ladies!" Okay Borat.
Thus ends the tale. Afterwards I got some real Italian coffee and a croissant with Italian chocolate spread....praise be to Italia.
And did I mention I dyed my hair black last night?? I look fab, I can tell you that.