thewav

So there I was, quietly making my exit from the nights activities. I purchased some chips, made my excuses, and was on my way home. Bliss, thought I, my bed was nearing. But no, dear readers, my journey home was about to become complicated.

I had enjoyed a fantastic night and day in London. The afternoon was spent both in Kentish Town and Islington respectively. Kentish Town for me (I love staring at scum) and Islington whilst meeting friends for a pint or two. The evening was planned to coincide with my cousins gig, but as he wasn't playing till midnight, I decided to venture down to 12Bar early. Imagine the shock/nostalgia that greeted me.

Having mellowed a bit in the last few years, I was delighted to realised that Hardcore Punk was playing. Very mid nineties 'Sick of it all' sort of stuff. I loved it. I didn't mosh (to old for that now), I didn't dance (see last entry), but I did stand at the back and thoroughly enjoyed every second of it. Even the warm beer didn't dampen my humour. ( the twelve year old cunting bastard kid did, but he fell on his arse and people laughed at him.... Karma I believe).

Nevertheless, dear readers, this night did eventuallly come to an end. My cousin's band played a blinding set and before I could heckle I was marching back to my abode. The dark streets of London are not as bad as one may think.
I marched
(for a bit)
I bumbled
(for a bit)
I swaggered
(for a bit)
I wobbled
(a bit more than I'm used to)
and I struggled all the way home.
(I did feel like the fifth little piggy)

As soon as I was on Camden High Street my bravado gave way to instinct. I was nearly home; I was nearly safe. I pounded onwards; my feet hitting the ground like worn anvils. I was invincible like a Roman Army (please don't quote the times that the Romans lost. I am making a simple similie.) ( If its a metaphor, you can message me privately and I'll castrate myself).

All of a sudden, 500 hundred metres away from salvation, Nicki joined me.


Please understand that I don't have any friends, compadres or even acquaintances named Nicki. Its not that I dislike the name or anything; I just need you to understand my horror of being introduced.

I remember the line.

'My names Nicki. You after anyfing mate'.

'What you on about' elegantly said I.

'You awright mate. You after anyfing. We can go anuvver place if ya like'.

'What!?!', I probed.

'Tenner fer a blowjob. I know a place we can go. Just a tenner. Come wiv me.

'Pardon' I exclaimed. I was expecting a big scary Harvey Keitel style pimp any moment now. The learnings of Holden Caulfield burst to the forfront of my mind. I made my excuses and started to walk at a pace that would scare the infirm.

She followed,, still nattering.

'You after anyfing special mate? I do deals.'

I was hurrying, although quite convinced that she might offer me some hot wings to seal the deal. This girl may of been a hussy, but she knew how to deal with southern pansies.

I shook her off somehow and made it home. A good night with a bit of drama. A good saturday.


Whilst lying in bed, all alone, slightly pissed and a bit morallly numb, I have to admit that the darker choices in life don't seem as terrible...


Nicki is buried in the garden now.