marvelus

Friday night IC, Dave and I were forced to go to a pub local to Dave in Hackney, he’d just come off shift and his missus was laid up with a migraine. The boozer in question had been recently refurbished and whilst not offensive on the eye was packed full of coke-sniffing little farties in the first flush of the weekend. I went for a pee before we left and, choosing the chod bin over the urinal, was harangued by two little buzzing tits desperate to get into the small room and fix themselves with another serving of Bolivia’s finest. After I’d seen to business I opened the door and was virtually knocked sideways by one of these little characters desperate for privacy. I grabbed him (I was a little pissed and he was shorter than me) and curtly informed him that his fucking moustache was coated in a thick quantity of white powder, without a second to spare his mate leant forward, licked the power off his pal and both disappeared into the toilet giggling like school girls.

On Saturday morning I stuck out my neck and signed the rent agreement to a one-bedroom gaff in Hackney. The reason I’m taking this chance is that the place is great and I’m very fond of Hackney, when I was little I used to go with dad on his rounds to the arched garages and later, I used to hung out there in my early 20’s. Despite being a different place back then it’s always had this natural air of bohemianism about it, a sort of self-awareness and pride that it’s not like any other part of London.

Over the past year I’ve been in Hackney much more than I was almost two decades ago, and whilst parts of it remain as they did, other areas have become knowingly ‘trendy’ and infused with cunts -media types, trustafarian ‘artists’ and ‘musicians,’ promoters abound… the fact that people as described above feel comfortable, almost obliged, to openly indulge in narcotics with impunity is just the sort of crap that make locals and long standing residents roll their eyes in dismay. Nonetheless, even with this sort of nonsense going on, it beats the stultifying dull existence of southwest London and I can’t wait to get out.

On Saturday afternoon after signing off my ass to my new landlord (a decent fellow) I met up with Gerry in a quiet boozer in Shoreditch. We had a happy couple of hours discussing music and family and I left to meet IC in what is now fast becoming a local. Paul and Mary joined us and had a few drinks before going back to IC and Mary’s gaff to play poker. We played until the small hours, I was doing okay for a while until I fucked up on a bluff and lost half my winnings in one shot, IC faired worse and Paul cleared us out. Blast.

Sunday IC and I went for lunchbreakfast by Regents Canal and took on a Bloody Mary with Eggs Benedict (I’m a Benedict addict, yeah) and we accidentally walked past the local and stopped off for a swift half that turned into a longer session as friends popped by to join us. Sunday ended with IC, Mary, Paul and I eating pancakes with that Anvil movie which is funny, sad, moving and fucking marvellous.