a bald, shirtless man slamming a metal barrier into a shop front at three am.
someone joined in but the barrier fell on top of him so he went for a lie down on the pavement. then the bald man started kicking the door in.
the last couple of weeks have been very good, and most of this is looking forward to the music i will be making in the coming months, although most of it is merely planning and guitar work. the bobby mcgees e.p. is largely mentally planned, and i started remixing butterflies tonight (basically mashing it up with pyramid song). then there's 'klutzma', my e.p. of radical klezma, and of course, the previously mentioned girlfriend experience e.p., which is in pre-production. then there's the band; ian and i are slick now, just waiting for others to join in.
things seem only, or largely to happen at weekends; an evening isn't long enough to go anywhere and come back. unless it's to a gig, which are always unmissable, and i've just found a page on last.fm that tells you when bands you like are playing in your town without you having to do anything except listen to them. it's great.
lesson learned this week - how to call it a night and go home at the right time.
so last weekend, after sessioning with ed, ian and ruth tried to make me come out to 'oh my god i miss you', the indie uber scene club. we would have made it to, if it wasn't sold out. so instead ian and thalia took me back home, ian changed out of his magician's costume, and we went out to an student indie night (after school klub), and fortunately most of it wasn't nme shite. there was a great 80s hiphop section to the night when i went really sick. however, they did play 'bigmouth strikes again' twice. about two, the night wasn't getting any better and i was tired, and sick of getting pushed around on the edge of the dance floor - is this universal, or do some people just find that they always gravitiate to the middle of the floor? and what do they do when they're in there, how do they possibly enjoy themselves? - i crept off home. all this on a single snakey-b. a decidely excellent night.
this friday, i went out with ian and ruth again, out in bloody shoreditch. we stood outside a pub drinking, then went the offy and got cheaper drinks and stood outside the pub, then went inside and jiggled left and right a bit. about midnight they went into a club and i could tell i wasn't going to like it. rather than go in for a fiver, hang around and not enjoy it, and get increasingly aggravated for three hours, just so i could kip at theirs, i went home.
this was a bad idea. i could have just got the keys off them and slept at theirs, got up in the morning nice and bright, headed out to south london to look at the house i'd appointed. but no, i got on the first bus with 'holborn' on the front. unfortunately, it had already been through holborn, and when i got to stoke newington i realised 'stay on the bus and see what happens' is not a good strategy. at three i got home. the evening might as well have not happened.
but when all looked dubious on saturday, i got a text from robin (girl); it seems the new season of london migration is taking place. she has moved to ... bethnal green! and saw something about 'unskinny bop' which is possibly the greatest club night ever... they played the BLUE MINKIES. loads and loads of cute indie kids, and they're all (probably) gay, meaning no annoying sexual tension. and at half one, i called it a night; robin stayerd knowing they'd play her elastica song eventually. i went out and had the owrst falafel kebab ever. they had absolutely no idea. should have just stuck with my original decision for chips kebab, but no. this is how it happened; a pitta was grilled. salad? onion lettue and tomato, please. the man puts the biggest amount of raw onion i've ever seen into/on top of the pitta, then does the same with the tomato and lettuce. humus? yes please, loads, i say. this goes in the corner of the pitta. three rubbish falafel are then balanced on top. pointless. afther eating the falafel with my fingers, and tearing off as much of the pitta as i get from under the salad and dipping it in the corner of humus, the bus came and i through the thing in the bin. yes it's a waste, but think of it more like it was being put out it's misery.
then followed the bus journey when i saw the man who didn't like the shop.
tonight we made stoved jerusalem artechokes, lovely sauce but the artechokes them selves were like bad potatoes; like they were cooked on the inside and raw on the out. we also roasted some garlic which was rocking.