While you were sleeping...
A cloudy August morning emerges from the east over London...
The Jubilee Line...
Where everything is, as per usual, completely fucking out of hand.
Beddy-byes time. Thank fuck. Hopefully I will get some quality nap time...
Bing bong! Fuck.
Again, bing bong! Fuck fuck... people who ring the doorbell twice must die!
Me at the window above the front door, "what do you want?"
Voice from below; "to need to check the electricity..."
Fuck sakes. I trundle down to the front door to let this guy in.
Right. Back to bed.
Bing bong! Ah for fuck's sake. Fuck.
Me at the window above the front door, "what?"
Voice from below; "gotta letter here, needs signing for..."
For fucking hell's cunting fucking sake. I trundle down to the front door to sign for the letter. The neighbour's fucking letter.
Fucking fuck fuck fuck for fuck sakes fuck. Fuck.
"Don't you ever ring this doorbell ever again. And once is enough. If there's somebody here they will come and answer it. Why ring it three times? I'm walking to the front door and you are standing there pushing the button.
I don't care what you're selling. EDF? Go away."
Slams the door.
I may have been a little more brusque than that. I did stop myself from swearing.
Fuck it. Obviously sleeping during the day is just not going to happen.
Feeling tired so its another attempt at trying to sleep.
The sound of Sally stomping up from the front door and yakking on the phone has woken me up. Everything is completely disorientated.
24-hour Tesco buying Red Bull.
Sitting at my desk.
Is it Tuesday? Or is it Wednesday? I can't work out where we are or what is happening. August? Yes...
There's something very odd when you're absolutely exhausted but just getting started when everyone else is asleep.
I remember when I first came to the UK in 2003, I was working all night on the evening when US forces bombed the hell out of Baghdad.
The 23rd of March 2003...
God, it seems like epochs ago.
In 2003 they would have gone into the club looking like this...
And in 2009 they would have emerged like this below. Although the one on the right would be standing on a box. Obviously.
In January 2003 I remember being drunk in Rupert Street and dancing to Christina Aguilera's Dirrty.
I remember I was in the Shadow / Widow / Shallow Lounge and Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock were there.
I didn't know who they were but the guy I was kind-of seeing at the time recognised them.
He was a shit. Get this - he was a rich fucker from Maida Vale, around 35-ish?! I remember one Saturday afternoon in June he was having a garden party.
So I pitch up and there are a lot of people in open-necked shirts with glasses of champagne going "faw faw faw faw..."
As the afternoon wore on, so the alcohol began to sink pretty quickly. I ended up needing the loo.
I wandered inside to the one just off the front door, opened it and there was Keith (that was his name) getting a gobby from - I can't even remember what his name was.
I remember staggering in the warm afternoon sun out of the house, going home and sleeping. What a fucker. I wonder whatever happened to him?!
Searching Facebook, Jake, Flickr, Twitter, LinkedIn, MSN... nothing. Maybe Keith shuns the internet?!
Maybe he's still in the bathroom off the hallway after all these years?! It's really annoying when people don't make themselves more stalker-able.
Oh don't be ridiculous, every one does it. I know you do too.