kilin’

It’s ridiculously busy over here. Things are looking good for the whole buying-of-the-flat situation (though it ain’t over yet) the wedding plans seems to be on track, work is being a right shit but the new writing venture seems positive -I’ve even got paid already, which is nice because I’m fucking skint.

Not that the latter situation did anything to dampen the weekend. I think I was a tad stressed Friday because I managed to get so pissed I’m struggling to recall how the evening ended. I know it began in Angel with my bro, IC and a few beers, after I’d returned home without IC (who was already homeski with Mary) I shoved a few more sharpeners before foolishly agreeing to visit a club in Shoreditch.

It was relatively empty when we arrived, enough time to say hello to a few faces then suddenly (to my addled brain anyway) it was packed solid with loads of people I know all stood at funny angles. I started talking to a couple of blokes by the bar, one was quite friendly, one wasn’t, which inspired me to talk more, fuck knows why. I didn’t realise until a while later that were both getting free drinks, it then dawned on me, very slowly, that maybe this club maybe theirs… and why was there a huge bouncer checking me out? I asked the less friendly one if this was his gaff, he nodded slowly and I decided I’d mingle with my pals, by now dispersed into every nook and cranny.

The rest of the evening is a haze, if that. I recall leaving the club under duress from IC and Mary then nothing until waking up 1pm Saturday feeling undead. We took ourselves off to Broadway Market, itself unnecessarily crowded, to drop off IC’s replacement bicycle at the repair shop for a spot of renovation, then we trickled home after bumping into Otto in the park. On the way I met Patti in the one of the locals for a catch-up, IC joined us later and was visibly disappointed that I was already on my first pint. I’d already had two coffees, I explained in earnest, and I was in a fucking pub! Obviously what I said made sense because she ordered a glass of wine.

The evening had been planned during the week. It was very simple; invite a couple of pals over to watch the last two episodes of ‘The Killing’ with some cheese, biscuits and perhaps one or two peanuts. Such is the addictive nature of the TV show, IC and I were not only prepared to give up a Saturday night for it, we were also happy to face the usual post-guest tidying up –by this I mean their detritus, not their internal organs or kneecaps.

In the end there were five of us including yours truly (as it happens the only male contingent that evening, which either speaks volumes about the TV Show, or me -not sure which). Still at least we had lots of scrummy cheese and the sparkly was delish!! LOL!!!!!!!!

I took to my bed feeling much more compos mentis than the previous evening; by the time I woke Sunday I was feeling perfectly okay.

IC and I had decided to spend the day together by means of celebrating a certain date in the calendar. The intention was to go to the flower market for a wander, the reality was a cocktail bar along the way (which has done nothing to aid my financial situation, even though it was reasonably priced). As we were about to go in IC thought she spotted her nicked bicycle passing by, later she said that she was positive it was hers but wasn’t too keen for me to go chasing after the bloke riding it. This was irksome but we didn’t let it ruin our day, by the same token we couldn’t help stare out of the bar window in case the cunt on her bike came back. Later on we discovered Mary had her bike stolen over the weekend too. That’s all of us now, every person I know who has a bike in Hackney has had it half-inched. I curse the thieves, I hope all their mum’s die in screaming agony in front of their fucking faces.

We’d intended to go out for dinner later but by the time we got home at 6-ish we just wanted pizza and film of some description. I wasn’t entirely done though, IC went off to bed at 11 and I decided to watch the F1 on catch-up. Bit dull, you know, but still an event of sorts.

Catch you Friday, yeah.