Sucking on my titties like you wanted me
Work tonight was pretty good, for the most part, although I am tired of what cunts people round here can be. As I've mentioned before, the clientèle of the pub in Chiswick were so much nicer than most of the people here. Politeness is what it boils down to. It's to do with class, and poverty, and lack of education, and lack of community, but the upshot is that a lot of people here are just ignorant - in all kinds of ways - twats. And, given the choice, I'd rather not spend time around them. There are only so many hours in the day, so why spend them with people you don't like? One of Ian Read's editorials for Chaos International, talking about elitism and a man being known by the company he keeps, springs to mind.
A local football team had recently won the league, and had a private party in the back room to celebrate. There were several attractive young women present, which always makes the night more pleasant (the vast majority of the customers here are ugly old men, so the contrast is striking), and the fact that the room was full of reasonably young people having a good time made a nice change as well. On two occasions they ordered 20 Jagerbombs. The glasses with Red Bull were lined up along the bar, and the shots of Jagermeister were balanced on the glasses. Then, with one push, a very satisfying clink-clink-clink sound accompanied the cascade of shot glasses falling into larger glasses. Adrian videoed it but with the light so low there's a good chance it won't come out very well.
After work I had a couple of pints and chatted to Adrian. He asked me if I was still thinking of moving out of London and I told him that I wanted to stay here, living and working, until the end of July and then piss off. He said that was fine. So I guess it's official now. We talked a little about the South East London mentality (I said that there was a general lack of politeness and he said "That's putting it mildly; people are downright rude."), his former life (he didn't come right out and say it, but I'm pretty sure he's killed at least a couple of people), and my plans - or lack thereof - for the future. He said it's a shame I didn't continue my studies, and I should decide what I want to do and go back, because I'm too intelligent to be doing this.
Which, of course, I've been told plenty of times before. If you asked me to sum up my career in three words then "Wasting my potential" would do as well as any. But, although I'm not quite young any more, I'm still young enough to find my way.
I'm glad I've worked here. It's not 'my kind of place'. I wouldn't really drink here. And I don't think I've increased my skills by being here. But it's introduced me to a lot of interesting characters, and made me realise just how common amazing stories really are. I never would have thought that in one pub I would meet a former Lithuanian special forces commando who fought in Chechnya, several local thugs who've spent several years inside, a cocaine dealer, a man who's doing a PhD before moving to Cambodia to try to stop the child sex trade, a man who makes a living from foreign exchange spread betting. Not to mention the landlady whose dad worked for the Krays and who was married to an arms dealer, and the landlord who's killed people in the employ of a Dutch gangster. There are probably a few who I've forgotten as well.
It's not exactly Cheers, is it?
I'm meeting Liz for lunch tomorrow so I should probably get some sleep. I might tell her about the move tomorrow (I've been saying for weeks that I'm not sure if I'm going to stay in London or not, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to her) or I might leave it until Sunday, when we're meeting up in the evening.
At one point tonight there was a slow song playing and all the footballers were dancing with their girlfriends. I felt a severe pang of loneliness. Which told me two things. One: that I don't have the connection with Liz that I'm seeking. Which wasn't really a surprise, but two: that I am seeking that connection. I had it in my head that I was going to keep things casual for a few years, just seek friendship and fun. And I may still do that. But there's a significant part of me which wants true love. 'Forever and ever' as Kim and I used to say to one another, quoting The Hunger.
A local football team had recently won the league, and had a private party in the back room to celebrate. There were several attractive young women present, which always makes the night more pleasant (the vast majority of the customers here are ugly old men, so the contrast is striking), and the fact that the room was full of reasonably young people having a good time made a nice change as well. On two occasions they ordered 20 Jagerbombs. The glasses with Red Bull were lined up along the bar, and the shots of Jagermeister were balanced on the glasses. Then, with one push, a very satisfying clink-clink-clink sound accompanied the cascade of shot glasses falling into larger glasses. Adrian videoed it but with the light so low there's a good chance it won't come out very well.
After work I had a couple of pints and chatted to Adrian. He asked me if I was still thinking of moving out of London and I told him that I wanted to stay here, living and working, until the end of July and then piss off. He said that was fine. So I guess it's official now. We talked a little about the South East London mentality (I said that there was a general lack of politeness and he said "That's putting it mildly; people are downright rude."), his former life (he didn't come right out and say it, but I'm pretty sure he's killed at least a couple of people), and my plans - or lack thereof - for the future. He said it's a shame I didn't continue my studies, and I should decide what I want to do and go back, because I'm too intelligent to be doing this.
Which, of course, I've been told plenty of times before. If you asked me to sum up my career in three words then "Wasting my potential" would do as well as any. But, although I'm not quite young any more, I'm still young enough to find my way.
I'm glad I've worked here. It's not 'my kind of place'. I wouldn't really drink here. And I don't think I've increased my skills by being here. But it's introduced me to a lot of interesting characters, and made me realise just how common amazing stories really are. I never would have thought that in one pub I would meet a former Lithuanian special forces commando who fought in Chechnya, several local thugs who've spent several years inside, a cocaine dealer, a man who's doing a PhD before moving to Cambodia to try to stop the child sex trade, a man who makes a living from foreign exchange spread betting. Not to mention the landlady whose dad worked for the Krays and who was married to an arms dealer, and the landlord who's killed people in the employ of a Dutch gangster. There are probably a few who I've forgotten as well.
It's not exactly Cheers, is it?
I'm meeting Liz for lunch tomorrow so I should probably get some sleep. I might tell her about the move tomorrow (I've been saying for weeks that I'm not sure if I'm going to stay in London or not, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to her) or I might leave it until Sunday, when we're meeting up in the evening.
At one point tonight there was a slow song playing and all the footballers were dancing with their girlfriends. I felt a severe pang of loneliness. Which told me two things. One: that I don't have the connection with Liz that I'm seeking. Which wasn't really a surprise, but two: that I am seeking that connection. I had it in my head that I was going to keep things casual for a few years, just seek friendship and fun. And I may still do that. But there's a significant part of me which wants true love. 'Forever and ever' as Kim and I used to say to one another, quoting The Hunger.