The day Diana died I'd been out gigging. Got home with whatever food I could cobble together at 2am, and sat down to chill out. When I gigged Screaming Blue every Friday for a year or so, I would get the train from Wimbledon to Paddington, cop some Burger King, then join the queue of the pissed and puzzled to get a cab home.
"why didn't you gt a tube?"
Fuck off, Tubes late night on a Friday are populated by very drunk people, some of whom are the drunken bastards who poulate the night buses, who have got up too early. If you ever want to know what London truly is, pick up a night bus from King's Cross at 3am. Harry Potter, it is not
. King's Cross has come up quite a bit. When I used to get the night bus from there, you had to stay in the light of the bus stop. The further you went into the dark beyond, the lower your chance of getting out of there in one piece became.
King's Cross also has/had a kebab shop with a lemon special, which was a lemon and some hot water, to sterilize your needle. When Neil and I got kicked out of our flat:the owners came back, I was in my bathrobe, it was 2pm, went quite badly, as I remember, the people we rented from put us in tower block in King's Cross. We'd been there two days. Neil came running from an alley. "Dowdy, we have to move, right fucking now!" He'd seen someone slumped in the alley with a needle hanging out of his arm, blood pooling around the entry point. My diabetic? argument was deirded as total shite! We moved out pretty quickly.
Ended up on Netherhall Gardens in Hampstead. sounds flash, we were the poor cousins on the row. The women next door was particularly snotty, until the day the story came out in the Evening Standard about her. She was a high clas hooker, who ripped off a customer for two million plus. The story had details about paddling pools filled with mud and other women. I happened to walk past her carrying the paper. She was super nice once that story came out.
Victor Meldrew used to live on our road. You see, its ours now, fuck you scrubber! Chill out. Lovely bloke, used to wash his Merc outside his flat every Sunday. Big fan of Neil's as I remember.
I've got nowhere near the Diana story. I need breakfast and more coffee to tell it. See this as a Dickensian instalement of London life.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment