Thirty Thousand Streets

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Bills Bills Bills



I wonder how the scene starts. I imagine a bank of security monitors, monochromatic, grainy, fluorescent against the darkness of the dark room that houses them. There are many places shown here, many homes, but on this ocassion, the one who watches these screens chances across my flat. On one of the screens, there's me in bed, turning restlessly in my sleep, as though troubled by some presentiment of what is to come.

The watcher pauses, a gauntleted fist pausing mid stroke above the back of the Gila Monster cradled in his lap. A burst of low, throaty laughter suddenly bubbles forth from unseen lips as the mailed fist darts forward to a bank of buttons inset in the hard wood desk before the screens, rising in pitch and incoherence as fingers dance between buttons labelled 'Gas', 'TV Licensing' 'Electricity' and 'BT bill'.

Of course that's probably not how we were suddenly got landed with about five bills, but hey ho.

Well the weekend was OK. My friends Vic and Paul were down from Manchester and sleeping in our living room on the fold-out sofa-bed, lulled dreamward by the incessent freight rattling up Camberwell church street at all hours. A weekend with these two usually promises enough booze to sink the Bismarck, though proceedings were actually pretty civilised this time.

Went and saw my friend Sam DJing, this time at the Lock Tavern. Regular readers will know that I see this guy play an unholy amount.. it's almost like a contractual obligation built into some unspoken friendship agreement. He was on form, though this time it was a bit busy. If any of the management of the Lock Tavern are reading this, unlikely as it may be: TRY MOVING SOME OF THE CHAIRS, TABLES AND SOFAS OUT OF THE WAY WHEN IT'S REALLY, REALLY, BUSY. Seriously. It gets like an assault course in there, or maybe 'It's a Knockout' is more apt.

To escape the clutches of Camden we had to walk to Holborn, as the N68 is no longer N. Yawn. Some guy was trashing a phone box on the way back, and we left him to it. A complete 'jobs-worth' bus driver also drove of leaving my mate Dunc AKA DJ Phase stranded because he didn't buy a ticket before boarding. Twat. Went back and sipped some ropey white wine and listened to fresh beats.

Sunday I went for a few beers with Gridrunner, Vic, Paul and Dunc, before returning for a house meeting. Cecilia, the Argentinian girl I live with was somewhat disappointed when the realisation dawned that 'House Kitty' wasn't referring to a pet cat for the flat, so much as a new way to spend money on cleaning products.

Also did an ad for my housemates recruitment agency, which he was pleased with, and from the sounds of it, it's a good recruitment agency so I haven't gone over to the darkside.

And that was that. Now Vic and Paul have gone, and the old routine reasserts itself. My friend Will was going to see Oldboy tonight which I had to decline being A, skint and B, skint and knackered. Shame..

9 comments:

sigh9 said...

yep..skint..I'm with you there eyechild

Zeno Cosini said...
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Zeno Cosini said...
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Zeno Cosini said...

I didn't go to Oldboy in the end. *sniff*

The Eyechild said...

Sorry dude.. I'da gone on Thursday but really needed to stay in last night.

ben said...

the eyechilds blog is bollocks.

ben said...

someone else said.
I told them off.

The Eyechild said...

Good lad. They were clearly a dick.

ben said...

clearly. like glass. thanks.