Friends like buses
Well, insofar as you don't see them for what seems like ages then they arrive in clumps.
Yes, CLUMPS of friends. That is the collective noun.
My old mucker Will and his partner Marie came down from Epping, where those noble patriots are currently protesting.
Will and I started a company called London Stonemasonry. Will bought me out as I am essentially not a businessman and Will is.
It was quite an atomic split, but we have remained good pals in the fallout.
We did the Glastonbury thing on Saturday. It was a beautiful day and parked our car in Dod Lane.
I spoke to a lady watering her plants and she said to look out for the fairies and not to annoy them, and that Chalice Hill was far more powerful than The Tor, but it's private land.
I thanked her for the advice and we headed on.
Up the Tor we went. I wasn't out of breath but I quickly realised my thighs weren't used to inclines.
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| As you can see, our Chakras are happily realigned |
We then did the High Street; cafés, shops (we'd run out of crystals) and a brilliant art gallery called Heart of The Tribe showcasing some excellent artists - not the usual New Age rubbish you see in Glastonbury.
Beautiful Spanish hippy ladies everywhere. No idea why but I'm certainly not complaining.
On Sunday Will and Marie left to be replaced by stepson Ben & Dr Becks - who I met at Niche.
We had a big catch-up over lots of cake and coffee. They're both doing really well and are about to buy their first house in Oxfordshire.
I'm really pleased they're doing so well - super bright hard workers and lovely people with it.
Hurrah for everyone!
Putting the cxxt in country-club
Once upon a time an invite came through the door to join a private country club. They’d obviously got my name from one of those lists and I’d no doubt just scraped into the bottom of their demographic.
2 of my former family were very excited.
I was of course, appalled.
Clubs like that are full of social climbers, all tidy and shit, talking about their boring jobs, waxing the corporate bollock, boasting about their exotic holidays and their A* kids, but how disappointed they are that Hattie is not as good as her sister in maths and that she’s only interested in music, drama and painting.
Row after row of brand new black SUVs.
The bottle-blonde Surrey wives judging everyone before you're deemed worthy of smalltalk and passing acquaintanceship.
I spent my life avoiding these people. Why the hell would I want to hang out with them, given the chance?
Sorry - living in SW London for 15 years just brings the worst out in me.
And all in a ‘Private,’ ‘Exclusive’ surroundings.
Talk about everything that’s wrong with society: the middle classes shutting the gate behind them as they ascend the social ladder.
Give me oddballs, weirdos and eccentrics any day of the week.
#socialdiver
Growing up in the 70s
Huge windows, short ceilings.
Windows iced on the inside with wrapped towels on the sills.
Storage heaters.
Coal delivered Tuesdays
Vosene shampoo.
Rise and Shine (powdered orange juice).
Orange.
Lavender.
Dark Green.
Light blue.
Brown suits with yellow shirts.
Huge lapels, ties and flares.
Zip-up cardigans.
Big flowery typography on programmes about horses.
Boxy, pointy cars with underpowered engines.
Pull out the choke most mornings.
Walking everywhere.
No single family owned those mansions.
Chopper bikes.
Velour sportswear.
Dunlop Green Flash.
Market knock-offs worn with pride.
First division football played in the mud.
Hairy adults and shocking hairdos.
Back before it gets dark.
Polyester slacks.
Gritty.
Cheapness.
Vinyl seats and wooden dashboards.
Climb the tree.
No. I’ll die.
Children’s TV presenters in bright dungarees.
Marley tiled floors.
The last breath of formality.
Stone-fights.
Scrambling in the woods.
Matchbox cars and Tonka toys.
Big chunky Lego.
Avon Ladies.
Punk rockers.
Hairy metlers.
Colour TV.
Barely any fat people.
Doughnuts like Fanny’s.
Bapspeak
I’ll retain it anally and we can exchange juices in a future pleasant.
I like orange. It’s a pleasant colour and it tastes nice.
I air-dried my anus in a gentle breeze. T'was most pleasing.
Competent but hideous.
My best friend’s Gary Stupid.
Skirting boards are gay.