Brooding this morning about the badness of Matty. Woke cirque couchant* with what can only be described as a hangover: entirely bad Matty boy's fault.
After another long and hard-working day, met Matty and his accomplices at the Reef bar at Victoria. (Also bumped into fellow hack Jez there, who I'd not seen for some time.) Matt and his amigos were off to Brighton this weekend to enjoy the burning of effigies and the fireworks at Lewes.
I explained to Matty that I wanted an early night and would melt quickly away once in Brighton.
Onto the crowded Brighton train and bad Matty had bought a bag of Magners ciders and a bag of ice and paper cups. I joined Matty and his crew in attending to those uninhibitedly and rather noisily, attracting one or two stony looks as we did so. His accomplices were Taranjit, Jeff and Craig (both American, and both nursing broken hearts. My opening line to Craig was, Hi Craig, how are you and that lovely Chiara getting on? D'oh.) And Bei and her nice Australian boyfriend Greg.
Train party: Matty glancing out into the darkness to plan more bad things. Jeff talking to Taranjit.
Sadly I failed to melt away & unaccountably ended up being loud and noisy in bars. Started off at the Battle of Trafalgar, a spit away from me, then on to The Caxton and ended up in the Heist bar, last visited with MJ. This becomes something of a nightclub later on with some sporadic and unimpressive dancing. As bad Matty commenced buying tequila at midnight I had a sudden insight: that now was an extremely good time to leave, which I did promptly. But clearly, judging by my head this morning, not nearly early enough.
Had not been to a dancey sort of place (other than silly work parties) for quite a while. It must be an age thing, but now I found myself looking at it all with amused detatchment. From this vantage all the little rituals and displays seemed transparent, and who fancied whom, who was available, who wasn't. I left the place very thankful for the fact that I have my MJ, and that my times of standing about trying to look cool, in the din of crap music, is something I will never have to do again. I never met anyone I liked in clubs & half the time you can't hear a word either. Young people. Bah. Ban them.
Phoned my darling MJ in America to convey the piercing brilliance of this thought when I got home. Lucky girl.
While at work I had spoken to Mum and Mase who had been visited, in a Kafkaesque way, by someone from the pensions department and were acting strangely.
Also talked to Paul who has started his temporary employment at Sainsburys. Typically he has thrown himself into it wholeheartedly and seemed to be really enjoying himself. He was even given a spot bonus for knowing the relative performance of the fish (up 19%) and the meat (down 30%) in the store. He said he was also thinking in three-dimensional space. Next week I am going to ask him what this means.
* Coiled snake-like from Keats Lamia. Have been looking for an opportunity for some time to use that.
After another long and hard-working day, met Matty and his accomplices at the Reef bar at Victoria. (Also bumped into fellow hack Jez there, who I'd not seen for some time.) Matt and his amigos were off to Brighton this weekend to enjoy the burning of effigies and the fireworks at Lewes.
I explained to Matty that I wanted an early night and would melt quickly away once in Brighton.
Onto the crowded Brighton train and bad Matty had bought a bag of Magners ciders and a bag of ice and paper cups. I joined Matty and his crew in attending to those uninhibitedly and rather noisily, attracting one or two stony looks as we did so. His accomplices were Taranjit, Jeff and Craig (both American, and both nursing broken hearts. My opening line to Craig was, Hi Craig, how are you and that lovely Chiara getting on? D'oh.) And Bei and her nice Australian boyfriend Greg.
Train party: Matty glancing out into the darkness to plan more bad things. Jeff talking to Taranjit.
Sadly I failed to melt away & unaccountably ended up being loud and noisy in bars. Started off at the Battle of Trafalgar, a spit away from me, then on to The Caxton and ended up in the Heist bar, last visited with MJ. This becomes something of a nightclub later on with some sporadic and unimpressive dancing. As bad Matty commenced buying tequila at midnight I had a sudden insight: that now was an extremely good time to leave, which I did promptly. But clearly, judging by my head this morning, not nearly early enough.
Had not been to a dancey sort of place (other than silly work parties) for quite a while. It must be an age thing, but now I found myself looking at it all with amused detatchment. From this vantage all the little rituals and displays seemed transparent, and who fancied whom, who was available, who wasn't. I left the place very thankful for the fact that I have my MJ, and that my times of standing about trying to look cool, in the din of crap music, is something I will never have to do again. I never met anyone I liked in clubs & half the time you can't hear a word either. Young people. Bah. Ban them.
Phoned my darling MJ in America to convey the piercing brilliance of this thought when I got home. Lucky girl.
While at work I had spoken to Mum and Mase who had been visited, in a Kafkaesque way, by someone from the pensions department and were acting strangely.
Also talked to Paul who has started his temporary employment at Sainsburys. Typically he has thrown himself into it wholeheartedly and seemed to be really enjoying himself. He was even given a spot bonus for knowing the relative performance of the fish (up 19%) and the meat (down 30%) in the store. He said he was also thinking in three-dimensional space. Next week I am going to ask him what this means.
* Coiled snake-like from Keats Lamia. Have been looking for an opportunity for some time to use that.
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