Doctor Lucid’s Eye Damage Poll
It was by now Sunday. We strolled towards The Level for a game of frisbee which was livened up by a discussion about D. H. Lawrence. Normally I can’t hack the noble art of throwing a disc (something to do with my attention span, or the fact that
I don’t really know how to throw a disc. Probably something do with ADHD.) However, as we stood on the level with cans of beer and a rotating yellow disc, Jed began to question me about DH himself, and I found myself expounding on the author of Sons and Lovers and The Rainbow whilst we hurled the rotating yellow circle about. He questioned me, we covered the thorny issue of Lady C, his conscienscious objector status, his move to Cornwall, and the “Horse Sex Scene”. I think that if every frisbee game was a literary discussion then I’d play the game a lot more often.
After all that, we bade farewell to Jezz, who was heading off to India, and then popped towards the Evening Star once again. After a couple of ales, me and Andy went back to my house. Sadly, he turned out to be really drunk, and decided to roll me a “Bob Marley” stylee Jazz Cigarette. Now this would have been fine if it was not for the fact that Andy and wee little Tom weren’t partaking in the pleasures of smoke. He called up Nicky P and tried to buy some Mudhoney tickets. We then looked at all of Tom’s pictures of comedy animals on his computer and then watched an incredible shadow puppet video on the internet. Tom kicked us out of his room eventually and Andy passed out in a chair. By this time I was sadly far too jazzed up to do anything apart from eat five cheese sandwiches and a whole tub of coleslaw. This is a subject of much shame for me and I can’t believe I did it. Oh well. These things happen.
The next day. Monday the twenty fifth of July. I worked in the evening in the evening star, and lo, who should turn up but Andy and Tom and Anna and Nicky P and Daniel Taylor and Tommy, who did partake of the fine ales available there. When I finished, we went off to the Pav Tav, aka the Pavillion Tavern, a run down sleazy indie club. Tommy and Anna went off home, which left me with Tom, Nick, Andy and Daniel, and me in a post-work state of sobriety. We got there, and immediately Andy had instigated a redneck stylee arm-wrestling contest. Due to my freakishly strong arms, I vanquished all comers, apart from Nicky P, and some guy who recognised me from the Evening Star. And so the evening went on. Indie night. Tom leaping over the table to go dance to The Smiths. Planning to form a band called Black Velvet involving a flying V ukulele. Ranting at miscellaneous indie kids. And then Tom gushing blood from his eyebrow and the subsequent mopping up efforts. Leaving the club and talking to these girls who were on loads of acid. Andy throwing a traffic cone at our knees. Daniel Taylor nearly being arrested and mocking the would-be-arrestors for shooting that guy in London. Indie night. Indie night. A world of pain.
I don’t really know how to throw a disc. Probably something do with ADHD.) However, as we stood on the level with cans of beer and a rotating yellow disc, Jed began to question me about DH himself, and I found myself expounding on the author of Sons and Lovers and The Rainbow whilst we hurled the rotating yellow circle about. He questioned me, we covered the thorny issue of Lady C, his conscienscious objector status, his move to Cornwall, and the “Horse Sex Scene”. I think that if every frisbee game was a literary discussion then I’d play the game a lot more often.
After all that, we bade farewell to Jezz, who was heading off to India, and then popped towards the Evening Star once again. After a couple of ales, me and Andy went back to my house. Sadly, he turned out to be really drunk, and decided to roll me a “Bob Marley” stylee Jazz Cigarette. Now this would have been fine if it was not for the fact that Andy and wee little Tom weren’t partaking in the pleasures of smoke. He called up Nicky P and tried to buy some Mudhoney tickets. We then looked at all of Tom’s pictures of comedy animals on his computer and then watched an incredible shadow puppet video on the internet. Tom kicked us out of his room eventually and Andy passed out in a chair. By this time I was sadly far too jazzed up to do anything apart from eat five cheese sandwiches and a whole tub of coleslaw. This is a subject of much shame for me and I can’t believe I did it. Oh well. These things happen.
The next day. Monday the twenty fifth of July. I worked in the evening in the evening star, and lo, who should turn up but Andy and Tom and Anna and Nicky P and Daniel Taylor and Tommy, who did partake of the fine ales available there. When I finished, we went off to the Pav Tav, aka the Pavillion Tavern, a run down sleazy indie club. Tommy and Anna went off home, which left me with Tom, Nick, Andy and Daniel, and me in a post-work state of sobriety. We got there, and immediately Andy had instigated a redneck stylee arm-wrestling contest. Due to my freakishly strong arms, I vanquished all comers, apart from Nicky P, and some guy who recognised me from the Evening Star. And so the evening went on. Indie night. Tom leaping over the table to go dance to The Smiths. Planning to form a band called Black Velvet involving a flying V ukulele. Ranting at miscellaneous indie kids. And then Tom gushing blood from his eyebrow and the subsequent mopping up efforts. Leaving the club and talking to these girls who were on loads of acid. Andy throwing a traffic cone at our knees. Daniel Taylor nearly being arrested and mocking the would-be-arrestors for shooting that guy in London. Indie night. Indie night. A world of pain.
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 7:28 AM
1 Comments:
Oh my bloody god is that you Chris? Has the green pencil of fate led me back to you? tried to email you a while ago but had a dead email address for you.
Email me.
From Amy.
From St Albans.
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