Category: Other

…where’s my head at. I’ve just woken up and experienced one of those truly panicking moments where I wasn’t entirely sure who I was, it felt really strange.
I’ve got over it and made a cup of tea now so I am fairly sure it’s going to be okay.
Last night I was out on the tiles for the second night in a row, as you may have noticed I rarely go near any tiles, let alone go out on them two nights running, oh no, this metaphor is dead…

I think the important thing to note is that it is still an important thing to do. While I don’t appreciate getting ‘spandangled’ (as Joe would put it) every night anymore it is sometimes nice to drink too many Jagerbombs and try to win the Gold for Paralympics dancing. That’s what I can remember of last night. I knocked up a couple of jugs of mojitos for the twin’s birthday and then we headed out. It all got a bit strange from there. I got a tweet from my friend Wes, and then I descended into madness. Brilliant.

I can’t really remember a lot else, all I know is that it wasn’t even eleven and I was yawning and then the next thing I knew Wes, Charlie and I were dancing and it was coming up on 3am. I’d class that as having a good time. Now I need to clear my head with a shower and do a wee bit of writing before going out for lunch.

I would just like to take a moment to thank everyone who heads over to my blog. It amazes me that each day I’m able to write something and it amazes me even more so that there are people who take to my blog to read it. In the month of August I had over a thousand views.

I appreciate the support of you all and hope it can continue forever.

Peace & love.

Paul

X

It feels weird going back to work as a peasant when yesterday I ate like a king. For those who haven’t seen our constant reminders of that via various outputs Kate and I went for afternoon tea at The Ritz. It was amazing.

I appreciate that there is a level of decadence to it but the fact is that there were people there who obviously took the whole experience for granted, as though they were just sat down the local ‘caff’. It was a real treat for us, and one that I won’t forget any time soon.

The building and the decor are worth the visit alone, the whole place is quite incredible to behold, and I constantly felt at threat of being discovered and turfed out like Chaplin’s Tramp. The staff were so courteous and helpful though so this notion was entirely of my own making.

We were seated and offered tea from a menu. A fucking tea menu. I didn’t know it came any way than in a bag (that is mostly a joke). Kate had the Ritz special blend and I had the Darjeeling (yes, because of it’s association with Wes). We were brought a cake stand with some of the best sandwiches and cakes I’ve ever seen on it.

We were then offered more cake from a selection on a tea tray. I think Kate was sure she had died and gone to heaven. Every now and then as we were talking the waiter would come round and check if we were okay and check if we needed more tea, but it didn’t feel intrusive or annoying, it seemed like a genuine regard for customers.

It was really nice to be treated that well, to be waited upon, but I don’t think I could ever get use to it, I’m not the waited upon type. It was like stepping back in time which we are obviously both a fan of and I would recommend it to anyone who wanted to do something special for a celebration.

After tea we headed past Buckingham Palace and over to the National Gallery, and National Portrait Gallery. We were the best dressed people there, no question.

Here we are huddled under my jacket from the rain:

So today is quite exciting. I’m going for afternoon tea at The Ritz. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. I bought Kate a voucher for tea for two for her birthday back in May and this was the soonest we could get a table, obviously the bourgeoisie love a scone. We’ve got to try and be on our best behaviour. Kate and I are prone to pulling faces and putting on silly voices at the dinner table and have been trying to get that out of our systems before today, although it would be quite punk to get booted out of The Ritz.

I’ve just looked outside and it’s burning sunshine, how am I supposed to wear a suit in this? I only wear suits for funerals and job interviews, this will be something different.

Through a fault entirely of my own the phonecall I was waiting in all day yesterday actually came into my inbox at 12:11 so I spent time being pensive and anxious when I don’t need to. Lesson learnt. It wasn’t good news, their loss.

Right, I need to shave and pretend I’m a nice person, catch you later.

I’ve spent the last couple forays feeling neurotic as hell. The fact is that I’m waiting on other people, waiting on news that could alter a lot of what I’ve got going on, and today is the first of two days this week when I am supposed to hear back regarding one of them.

I’m not going to publicise this post in the way I usually do because if I don’t get my way I’m liable to kick off and delete it anyway but if it is good news I will post it here and reveal why I’m being so cryptic.

I hate waiting on other people, they never seem to grasp the utter emergency state that is my realm and take their precious time.
Pleasssse just let it work out.
I’d really like this.
I need out.
Please.

I’ve got some raisin toast and black coffee at my side, I don’t have a top on and I’m ready to do some writing. By that I don’t just mean a blog post, I’d like to finally get the first in a long line of short stories completed, it’s been kicking about at the four thousand word mark for weeks now, and I’ve just got to close the thing off and then I can move onto something else and not have to be so concerned all the time.

Yesterday I got to visit my godson Toby and his doting parents Will and Chloe who I lived with while I was at University. He’s a right little tearaway now, I haven’t seen him since his first birthday and while he hasn’t mastered the complexities of saying my name yet, he has learnt to open doors and store food in his chubby little cheeks so he can compost it down to mulch and then expel it to the carpet whenever he chooses, he’s adorable. It’s really nice to spend time with Will and Chloe because they remember what I was like at Uni better than I seem to myself, I had such a brilliant time while I was living with them and its nice to get lost in those memories for a while, and for Kate to realise that I’m actually a lot better, and that she’s lucky she didn’t meet me during those hedonistic times because I was a self centered little creep and for the majority not all that fun to be around. Regardless of that I still maintain a brilliant friendship with Will and Chloe who prepared for the arrival of their child by looking after me, ensuring that I was put to bed, up in times for lectures and eating properly, they’re naturally attuned to looking after a baby, because they had me first. They’re brilliant parents.

I’m going to get on with some work now, too much to do on a bank holiday, which is a bit depressing, but maybe tomorrow will bring a change of plan, or the news I’ve been waiting for, and everything will just work out for me. Here’s to hoping.

I’m off to Reading within the hour. It’s my first journey back to the festival in two years (I did go to Glastonbury last year), since Arcade Fire and The Libertines played and they had to scrape me off the metaphorical ceiling at the end of the night. I was in love and I was a mess.
Today it’s Kasabian and Florence and the Machine on the main stage although I’m more tempted by At The Drive In and The Cribs, for two reasons apiece. I have this rule that it’s always best to go and see the band that you are least likely to see again (this theory got me to the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury on Sunday last year for Beyonce). I only know a few At The Drive In songs but can guarantee they put on an amazing show. My second reason for wanting to go and see them is that I can be sure it will rile up some jealousy in some of my closest friends who have followed the band for as long as I can remember (and once smashed my living room door off its hinges dancing to them). My reasons for wanting to see The Cribs are exactly the opposite, I’ve seen them thrice before (?) and I know that they always get an incredible reception. The last time I saw them they had Marr in tow and I wonder how the newest album (produced by Steve ALbini) is shaping up live. I’ll have to see where the day takes us.

I’m also interested to see what kind of creatures inhabit Reading Festival now. When I first went in 2007 it was the pure love of music and alcohol that drove people there but each visit since has shown a shift in the focus, it now seems to be more about looking cool, chino wankers and girls in daisychain straw fedoras getting fucked up on their parents money before they go back to Wherevershire to be a burden on the general populace. I hope this is just me getting older and being jealous of the hedonism of youth because I would hate to think that people aren’t going to music festivals for the music, it would be like walking up to an ice cream man and asking for a doctorate in psychology. All I can hope is that everyone stays safe, and has a good time, and doesn’t mind me flailing about to The Shins this afternoon.

There was a moment of shock and burning as the shoddily constructed flap at the bottom of the door was pushed open and a tray of what could almost be described as food was shoved through it, slopping its grey contents over the lip of the plate and skid marking the floor as it came to rest by his head.

The last meal pushed through the hatch had made him terribly sick and he feared this was some part of their plan, whoever they were, to weaken him and make him more susceptible to whatever. He checked the date on his digital watch and concluded it had been just 44 hours before that he had got out of his car to remove a piece of paper stuck to the back window when he had been attacked. He was sure by now there would be a missing persons report filed, but he couldn’t work out who loved him enough to do it.