You see that bright blue sky? It's gone. It's buggered off and left me here with cloudy weather and the need of my fleece jacket. As always, I've been wandering about aimlessly doing nothing much except, well, wandernig abotu aimlessly, occasionally meeting friends. Walking about alone and wasting time in cafe's makes you think, though. Makes you think about many things, such as this:
The other day (I can't remember which) I was riding the central line trying to get to somewhere when a homeless man boarded with an empty cup, coughed to gain everyone's attention, and announced in a manner befitting a gentleman,
"Good afternoon, everyone, it's been a lovely couple of days, the weather's been brilliant and I hope you are all having a pleasant day. I apologise for disturbing you all but if any of you have any spare change for me that I may get a bite to eat and a place to stay for the night I would be much obliged. Thank you."
Of course, no one gave and I had no change, but it got me thinking: this homeless man, who has no form of income and lives on the streets getting by whatever way he can still had his manners. In fact, this man with no job had more manners than most CEO's and company directors in Malaysia. If you brought this man to a restaurant I'm sure he'd have perfect table manners, whereas most men driven around in Mercedes' in Malaysia eat with their mouths open in front of senior delegates of the UN.
Makes you wonder. And now, back to the plot.
I wkoe up at around 3pm today, sleeping in and chilling out. After an absolutely disgusting vegetarian breakfast panini sandwich I called up Man Method in the hope of spending the night in Shoreditch getting my groove on only to discover the poor man's suffering from the same symptoms I suffered from less than a fortnight ago: fever and vomitus. I paid him a visit and the fifty quid I owed him for getting my Donington festival ticket, bought my train ticket to the fest and met up with Naren for drinks, only to discover the poor man's got an intensely bad back and the dude was suffering in the pub (which, incidentally, was a very nice pub but I can't remember the name).
Then, the randomness. I was stood on the corner near Picadilly Circus station looking down Shaftesbury Avenue wondering whether I should visit the Casino for all times when some random walked up to me asking for a cigarette. I obliged.
"Where you from?" the random asked. I told him. He then asked if I had any plans tonight and whether I'd like to join him and his friends for drinks at a Mash-Up club.
I thought, "Why not?"
I followed the guy whose name was Michael who claimed he was from Oregon, working in both an accounting firm and film company. we then met up with his female friends Amber and Flora where I discover (a) they're still in high-school and (b) Michael's not American. He's from Clapham.
That explains the accent.
We then went to some bar called the Marketplace and I excused myself to an alleyway to pee when I thought to myself,
"Do I really want to spend my night drinking with some guy who blatantly lied to me abotu where he comes from and could be lying to me about other things as he gets into some high-school girls knickers?"
Not much of a question really. I fucked off.
On the walk back I began wondering why I thought London was my home all those years ago. Sure, I like the place, but I prefered the company of my friends more, and the only dude who keeps in constant contact is Man Method. Take away the friends and leave London as is and I feel incredibly lonely. I miss my friends, my girlfriend, even my job. And as much as I like how friendly people are in England, the random-Michael kinda put a damper on that, watching him whisper behind Amber and Flora's back about how "it's on" tonight. I may be thinking paranoid, but there's a good chance a con was afoot. Either way, I find it hard to trust someone who lies about where their from. Why would he do that?
And why Oregon?
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