Happy New Year, Idiots!
Fuck, that party was huge!
Woke up at noon on the first still in my shoes and coat and with some chick's tiara on my head. Fuck knows where that came from or how I got back to my flat at all. My head was well off its axis. Kicked off my shoes and slept on till about 5pm, then spent the rest of the evening dozing in front of the telly trying to get my head on the right way up, watching Bill Hicks and old Newman and Baddiel stuff. Fuck, the 90s were ugly.
But yeah, party, yeah? At my mate Matt's, over on Britannia Street in Islington, just above the Gagosian Gallery. It's the new place to be, Islington, well sly. Packed with people, lots of old faces, lots of new ones, everyone high on expectation and happiness and fuck knows what else.
Some guy shouted out he remembered the Trashbat fire and proposed a toast. Then I said we should toast Dan and everyone fell silent as we remembered him and it was a beautiful moment. This chick next to me asked if I'd known him and I told her that yeah, I knew the Preacher Man. Fucking terrible what happened, she said and hugged me. Yeah, I said, still can't get my head round it, I still expect to see him coming down the street towards me any day. Oh, you poor thing, she said. I got her number, might give her a ring, might not, fuck cares.
Yeah, and Papa caved after he made me tell him why I got fired from my job at Cargo. Told him it was the shock of Dan's death and he said he understood, that he'd felt the same way back when Nan died in September. So I've got some cash to see me through January, but I still need to get a job. Gotta start fixing that tomorrow.
But yeah, yeah?, Christmas's been good this year. Dunno what 2008'll be like, got no plans and that. Might give that girl a ring...
Woke up at noon on the first still in my shoes and coat and with some chick's tiara on my head. Fuck knows where that came from or how I got back to my flat at all. My head was well off its axis. Kicked off my shoes and slept on till about 5pm, then spent the rest of the evening dozing in front of the telly trying to get my head on the right way up, watching Bill Hicks and old Newman and Baddiel stuff. Fuck, the 90s were ugly.
But yeah, party, yeah? At my mate Matt's, over on Britannia Street in Islington, just above the Gagosian Gallery. It's the new place to be, Islington, well sly. Packed with people, lots of old faces, lots of new ones, everyone high on expectation and happiness and fuck knows what else.
Some guy shouted out he remembered the Trashbat fire and proposed a toast. Then I said we should toast Dan and everyone fell silent as we remembered him and it was a beautiful moment. This chick next to me asked if I'd known him and I told her that yeah, I knew the Preacher Man. Fucking terrible what happened, she said and hugged me. Yeah, I said, still can't get my head round it, I still expect to see him coming down the street towards me any day. Oh, you poor thing, she said. I got her number, might give her a ring, might not, fuck cares.
Yeah, and Papa caved after he made me tell him why I got fired from my job at Cargo. Told him it was the shock of Dan's death and he said he understood, that he'd felt the same way back when Nan died in September. So I've got some cash to see me through January, but I still need to get a job. Gotta start fixing that tomorrow.
But yeah, yeah?, Christmas's been good this year. Dunno what 2008'll be like, got no plans and that. Might give that girl a ring...