Hot sex and yoga
Monday morning involved working at the Evening Star. My alarm woke me at half past nine, which meant that I stumbled down the steps at the same time as Anna walked in through the door. From The Glade at half past five to Brighton at half past nine was quite an achievement considering she was working at two. We had a brief “I’m just getting up, you’re just going to bed” conversation, and down to the Star, where the regulars were inquisitive yet informative, Seamus was bouncing around like a spring chicken on a spring, and Daniel Taylor popped in for a Captain Morgans and a splash of coke. Alice also pepped in for a lemonade and a chat. So after a most pleasant shift I strolled back home for an improvised dinner containing tomatoes and celery and spring onion. Rosanne had returned from the glade and was at her most wide eyed and destructive point, laughing at things that weren’t there and watching the fence move. Poetry night at the Sanctuary went on that evening, and so we strolled down. It was slightly disappointing, somehow, being quite empty and much of the poetry not very good. Tommy and Tom were a judge, with Tommy being the numerals, and Tom the decimals. A girl played her guitar as she performed, something which sadly didn’t add much to her performance. I won, but it wasn’t the greatest time to win, although I did get a bottle of wine as a prize. Sadly the American girl who always wins wasn’t there, so I didn’t get to see if I would have beaten her, and I didn’t have enough new poems anyway so had to resort to old ones. Plus this old man who read his poem in a nursery rhyme wobbly voice blatantly should have won. Rosie was descending into a wide eyed state of confusion, but did get to enjoy Robin saying “Usually” to her.
Phone Mast Dave, the half irish, half Canadian, three quarters phone mast, spindly dreadlocked figure, has, against all logic and reason, opened a shop in Trafalgar Street. Not just that, but he had a massive launch party at the club formerly known as The Zap. We spent the late afternoon making a Phone Mast Dave stencil and then making t-shirts, bearing a stylised Dave image and the words “Phone Mast Dave”.n Clad in our new garments, we popped down to the Late Priestern and met up with Dave the Machine (or the Mec Daddy as some know him) and Tommy K and Nicky P and other people with single-letter-second-names. Me and Tom and Tommy and Daniel Taylor and Rosanne and Davey Mec and Nicky P went off to the club, where we saw Andy sitting up in a high window. We got to rub shoulders with the man himself, and got some free champagne. Nicky P went off to Heavy Metal Club, and we went down to the dancefloor.
We were dancing to this music played by a group called the Low Fidelity All Stars, and somehow (I’m not entirely sure how. I think Rosanne might have had something to do with it) I ended up on stage playing Harmonica with these All Stars. This was quite an unusual state of affairs, but it seemed to go well. Sadly, in all the kerfuffle involved, I ended up losing my camera that evening also.
Home and back to my bed on the heap of rags. The sleep is good.
This in some ways has become a self-imposed diary. One day I shall print all this out and stick it in a scrapbook. Because, mostly, I don’t trust the internet to keep good archives.
q. being like tom waits; does it involve living like tom waits?
a. if that involves being in prison in Iran, then possibly not
q. whar brand of cigarettes does tom smoke?
Phone Mast Dave, the half irish, half Canadian, three quarters phone mast, spindly dreadlocked figure, has, against all logic and reason, opened a shop in Trafalgar Street. Not just that, but he had a massive launch party at the club formerly known as The Zap. We spent the late afternoon making a Phone Mast Dave stencil and then making t-shirts, bearing a stylised Dave image and the words “Phone Mast Dave”.n Clad in our new garments, we popped down to the Late Priestern and met up with Dave the Machine (or the Mec Daddy as some know him) and Tommy K and Nicky P and other people with single-letter-second-names. Me and Tom and Tommy and Daniel Taylor and Rosanne and Davey Mec and Nicky P went off to the club, where we saw Andy sitting up in a high window. We got to rub shoulders with the man himself, and got some free champagne. Nicky P went off to Heavy Metal Club, and we went down to the dancefloor.
We were dancing to this music played by a group called the Low Fidelity All Stars, and somehow (I’m not entirely sure how. I think Rosanne might have had something to do with it) I ended up on stage playing Harmonica with these All Stars. This was quite an unusual state of affairs, but it seemed to go well. Sadly, in all the kerfuffle involved, I ended up losing my camera that evening also.
Home and back to my bed on the heap of rags. The sleep is good.
This in some ways has become a self-imposed diary. One day I shall print all this out and stick it in a scrapbook. Because, mostly, I don’t trust the internet to keep good archives.
q. being like tom waits; does it involve living like tom waits?
a. if that involves being in prison in Iran, then possibly not
q. whar brand of cigarettes does tom smoke?
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 7:20 AM
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