He looks about 25/26. Obviously hammered. Stumbling through Euston at 7.30 on a Saturday morning is never pretty. No ticket. Oh, well sir, you better come this way as we introduce you to our Direct Payment Machine. No excuses, no chance for him to escape. Of course, you appeal. But who has time for that?
"The man told me..."
"I don't care what the man said sir, the only way for you to leave is to give a generous donation to our National Rail Service"
Pay now, get it back later. What are the other options here? Fake name? Address? He considers it but no way he could pull it off. Not here. Not this twisted. Reaching inside his coat pocket he finds the answer. This will save me thinks. Offers it to the good employee, truly convinced.
It is a lime.
Simple plans on a Friday night turn into frightful attempts at human contact. The desire to feel wanted. Friends battle over the affections of another. No words are exchanged, no heated conflict, but we, the outsiders, know what's happening. Yet no-one will admit it. Not on the night, in the midst of war. The following day, the smoke has cleared, the grass still trampled. It always starts with "remember when...". Nervous agreement. What else did I do? The questions rattles around the eggshell that your mind has become. We all laugh now and pretend to be embarrassed but secretly embrace our pride. I created a story, we all think. The protagonist of everyone's thoughts today.
Breaking down a night out the morning after is our generation's equivalent of the therapist's couch. Tell story, hold some back, gauge reaction, repeat. It's incredible to see the abject failure of some to hold back delight. The resonance of the Irish Storyteller runs deep in us as we subject ourselves and our friends to the masses. I abhor banality. Give me chaos. Show me someone generally ashamed of what they did last night and I will show you a liar. We try to create our own legends but we only do so by forgetting this. It is only when we surround ourselves with the right conditions, the right people, that we are in danger of being brilliant. I believe in you. You can be unashamedly proud of the funny thing that happened you. You got shot down by a girl. Your friend told you she had a boyfriend and you went back to her to apologise.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a boyfriend. I shouldn't have gone in for a cheeky smooch there."
"I don't have a boyfriend..."
"Oh..."
Some brilliant people I know have things for you to do.
If you're in Dublin, support the Westway Flyover. They packed out the Twisted Pepper for their last shindig so keep your ears and eyes peeled for the next joint.
And London hold tight for the Tasteless massive descending on Holloway Road once again this Friday 12th November. Dave Magnier and his crew bring the sexy to the Herbert Chapman.
Next time, a collection of music and images and less bullshit.
See you all at something soon x
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