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Aug. 10th, 2005

posing laying

All by myself, I wanna be...

How much fun can you have on your own?

No, no, no, this entry is certificate ‘U’ for Universal.

When you live in London, the answer is: a fair amount.

It’s possible to have the time of your life in this capital too. However, when you’ve lived here for the majority of your life, you stop shouting out ‘Trafalgar Square!’ with childish glee, especially when tourists start giving you wary looks.

Last night was a great time. Not perfect, but it left me with that ‘life is shiny and new’ feeling. It started off by meeting the lovely Nina, (a goddess with whom I just can’t find fault), sipping peppermint lattes, and discussing her upcoming online projects. We then moved onto an ‘easyEverything®’. For those of you who haven’t the foggiest, its a chain of internet cafés - I said this entry was a ‘U’. We checked out some of my web things and researched random stuff, blah, blah, click.

Nina went home, as she had been working flat-out as usual, and I set out on my lonesome.

First stop, telephone box. I hate having no credit on my mobile phone, but am frequently in this situation.
‘Hi, Marcelo, it’s Scott! I’ve got no credit on my mobile (sigh). Give me a call, I’ve got your phone charger and a CD of yours with me. Bye for now.’

Off I trotted, mp3 player blasting out R’n'B choons as I passed most of the closed shops (it was 10pm), and into Border’s mega-bookstore on Oxford Street.
Ahhh, Border’s. Bordering on heaven for me. Books, commercial coffee, magazines, CDs, DVDs, seats, late hours and loose assistants. No one cares if you’re buying anything in there. You could use it like a library if you were really cheeky. But I was a good lad; I purchased TWO items!

Before leaving, Marcelo returns my call. He says: ‘Hey, you’ve got my things WITH you? I can’t take them; I’m with friends in soho, but we might be going to Heaven later. I’m going to a friend’s house now until maybe 1am… or 2am. Yeah, I’ll send you a text message if I go. Tchau’ n.b. He’s Brazilian, not pretentious.

I walk my way through Soho, past Leicester Square, and onto the Strand. There are lots of people out, as usual, and my mp3 player is still pumpin’ on. Through the back of the theatres, passing people with different accents from different countries, I arrive at the alley next to Charing Cross station. There in front of me is the end of the queue for Heaven. Hmm, roughly 50 metres from the corner of the arch where the club is situated, which is another 30 metres from the entrance.

Wait. I haven’t eaten today. Hmm.
McDonalds?
I’ve peered through the window. Not very full, not too many hooligans… OK.
Chicken Premiere. (The word derniere does it more justice, sorry) And about half a chapter of Harry Potter & the gob ‘o’ fire, which I’m also carrying around from home.

I make my way to the Heaven queue which is still at the same distance from the arch, but with a different variation of shoulder bags and frayed-jean wearing smokers with trendy jackets. Can you guess how long I was looking at the back of a pair of spanish speaking dudes wondering which country they were from? 55 minutes!! I shouldn’t be surprised, I have been here before, and probably only one of the natives, so I should know better.

£7 entrance isn’t so bad. At least all 4 rooms are open, the place is packed and I can hear a song I like.
I came, I danced, I pushed my way onto a stage and shook everything I had (in each room), met a guy I hadn’t seen in 6 months and left at 2.45am. Marcelo didn’t turn up. Oh well, I had fun anyway, and noticed that 40% of the crowd were Filipino and the other 60% were Brazilian. I read more Harry Potter on the nightbus and arrived home about 4am.

Doesn’t sound particlularly fantastic, does it? Although when you do it yourself, and you have all this time to daydream without interruption and see things as new again, it makes your inner world a whole lot bigger.

Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

Jul. 31st, 2005

posing laying

Cops ‘n’ Robbers

Where’s my stuff??

For those of you who don’t know, I had my mobile phone and beloved MP3 player stolen by a light-fingered, faked-named, whore-of-a-cretin on July 10th.

Do I seem bitter? No, that’s not the word I’d use, because the creature that took my things (and my easily-flaterred flatmate’s fone), was exactly all of those words.

Good news? The flatmate, let’s call him ‘Keith’, saw this cretin, lets call him ‘Cretin’, inside the exact same pub as he pushed himself onto us, just 4 days later! As a result the police were called and Cretin was arrested within 5 minutes - result!

How stupid a criminal is he? I mean, points for telling us a fake name, fake nationality, (probably faked enthusiasm for wanting drinks with us), discreetly hiding the phones and mp3 player somewhere and leaving, BUT…
What is the saying of crime-doings that most adults have heard of? The words ‘don’t go back to scene of a crime’ do ring the odd chime in my head. I think this should be extended to ‘don’t go back to the pub in which you picked up the victim of your crime, using the same crutches that you don’t really need’

Apparently, he’s out on bail until the 26th of July, when the police will decide whether to charge him or not. I think that should be my decision really, but I don’t have CCTV in my house - dammit! I just hope he is also stupid enough to not have sold my things and have them in his possesion. It’s possible.

Jul. 6th, 2005

posing laying

Amsterdammit

One of my friends is leaving the country in a few weeks, to go back to his native Brazil.

Before this, he’s going on a mini-tour of Holland and Scandinavia, and one of the cities he is staying in is Amsterdam. Damn it! I wish I could go with him!

I really love this city, and I think anyone else who has been there admires it too. It’s so pretty and clean-looking. The rings of canals with the quaint little bridges. The rows of 17th and 18th century terraced houses flanking them. The trams, the bicycles, the pot shops (and we ain’t talking daisies here). I just love it!!!

Then there’s the squares, the flower markets, the bars, the nightclubs, the shopping, and cuisine from every part of the world along just a few streets. My favourite was a small traditional dutch place which served us little pancakes, and of all things, a japanese place with great sushi (ever seen a japanese speak dutch??).

People wonder about the red-light district and so it’s a huge tourist attraction. I will say I was shocked when I walked down those streets. Not because I couldn’t believe that women were selling themselves (come on! I’m a londoner!), but because they didn’t look real. What I mean is, I was walking along a street with my friend one night and hadn’t realise I’d come across the area. It started to become a bit more crowded and I looked in a bright window at what I thought was a shop mannequin for lingerie. I know, I know - laugh all you want! The words ‘naïve’ or ‘drunk’ may be in your head - but these women, my goodness! They were abslutely pristine. Like full-sized barbies with poseable everything, and perfect porcelain faces akin to an ivory victorian doll (minus innocent expression).

Aside from all of this, I must go back one day, and invite anyone who reads this to come too!
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