bitful

Saturday: a completely neglectable day, with a late start due to having got home at 9am from A:M and consequent half-snooze on the couch waking up every now and then to find scary images on the telly of the Cheeky Girls strapped on a wheel with eggs being thrown at them, and performing a ballet dressed as ballerinas (a friend later reassured me that I was not hallucinating). Woke up in a shaky rotten state and had to drive - on the wrong left side of the road, of all things. I did surprisingly well, considering it was the third time in my life that I was doing that; my theory is that the braincells that had survived the Friday night massacre were already working backwards, and helped me reverse my coordination and reflexes for proper UK driving.

I decided to give the Final Fist a miss. No particular reason, I just was not in the mood to go there on my own (none of my friends was going there). I later learned that there were people going around the club with torches (as in "flashlights" not "sticks on fire" - although with Fist, you never know) to make sure nobody was being naughty in any dark corners. Just as well I did not go then, my memories of the few times I went there last summer will remain unspoiled.

Friday then. Drinks at Sanctuary Soho with the usual crowd for what seems to have become a habit these days - "sanctuary" / "habit": please forgive my cheap puns, and keep in mind I am not writing in my first language (although friends tell me I am not funnier in Italian). I then failed to show up at Waterloo station for Gabriel's arrival from Paris, and proved once more to be kind of dyslexic with numbers (his train arrived at 8:09 pm and I was about to go and meet him at 9:08). He joined us at Sanctuary, then we continued *Gab's Big Night Out In London* via the Village, the Shadow Lounge, Substation and A:M, then went back to mine for breakfast and to get back in touch with our roots by listening to Italian camp music from a brilliant CD that he brought over from Paris for me.

I wish he moved back to London. I might have succeeded in convincing him to come back for new year's eve - I did not feel I had to twist his arm though.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 15th, 2002 at 4:05 pm and is filed under uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.