This entry could also have had the questionable title of "Do you know where Timbuktu is?" or even worse "A day of comic beards and eyebrows" but that would have been misleading, as these were just minor incidents in what transpired yesterday, so the original title remains the most apt.
---
I can still remember the first time I spent more than an hour with Dave, it was quite the most intense evening I have ever had.
We were meeting up town, began talking solidly almost before we actually got together and continued on the train journey home and right into the wee small hours.
Not even a break for light refreshments, a tour of the house or to put on some chilling background music.
After barely enough sleep to survive we picked up without missing a beat the following morning and continued until we were back in the city, much to the mixed amusement and annoyance of fellow commuters, many of whom were trying to get a last minute power nap.
Yesterday was in much the same vein, although we just loitered and sampled some of what London had to offer on a windy Sunday afternoon instead of heading down south.
What we talked about was not the point, although on hindsight me drinking cider on an empty stomach was not the brightest of ideas, yet somehow we managed to cover most of the usual bases and of course ended up talking writing.
I was glad that he was enjoying reading my blog, even if my writing style and content does vary drastically with my mood, but that is all just a part of me and I'd prefer to leave it in rather than take it out and be more mechanical.
As is customary with out infrequent rendezvous we found what we hoped would be a quiet little watering hole and settled down for some pub grub and liquid refreshments.
Sadly food was off the menu until later and when it finally did become available the pubs dodgy waiter, with possibly the worlds thickest, darkest and bushiest eyebrows, served the table next to us and took so long that it was almost as if he was being deliberately slow to earwig our conversation.
Moving on after that, and still with that huge eyebrow in the back of my mind, we found a small Spanish eatery and enjoyed a bit of nosh as I was in fear that the cider was beginning to seriously affect my ability to adequately uphold my side of the conversation.
I was glad that my Spanish pronunciation was up to ordering without having to point or dropping into English which I would not be able to accept as anything less than of lack of effort on my part, what with me being a Spanish student and all.
I can't help it sounding very clique when I say that I hate saying goodbye to David, but the truth is that I never know when the next time we will get to meet up will be, and invariably it turns out to be a good six months down the line from the last one, so we really do have to try and maximise our time in the same room.
I prefer to think that its the curse of the Blackadders, to wit "there's no coffee shop in England big enough for two Blackadders" - though of course you have to tweak that last word to make it work properly. And again that could have been yet another suitable titles for this entry.
On the train home I had to move once to escape the screaming babies and their doting parents in the seats next to me, ‘oh Bill Hicks, how right you were!’ and then with only a couple of stops from home a guy gets on and sits right opposite me looking like some cross between Rusputin, a Goth and someone with an unhealthy rubber S&M fetish.
If this guy is out there reading this, I mean no offence, honest, but you really did have such a mishmash of imagery that my cider induced imagination was on overdrive and couldn't help itself!
With a face that showed very few lines of age he had the largest, thickest and bushiest beard I have ever seen outside of a pirate movie, and it looked so out of place and unkempt that I had to restrain myself from reaching out and giving it a tug to see if it was a false one or not.
It beat Lords Melchit’s handlebar moustache into a cocked hat.
Having left the train station I only had a five minute walk home and avoiding the main high street I felt sure that I could get home without further incident, however fate conspired one more time to shove life in my face.
A group of chavs came up and asked me where Richmond Road was, and not wanting anything to do with them I replied in the negative and tried to subtly continue unimpeded.
At this point one of them decided to try and be very clever and as I was pleading ignorance he then flippantly asked "Do you know where Timbuktu is?
I doubt that he even knew how to spell it, let alone know anything about the place but I was in no mood to educate him with and so just totally ignored him and continued on.
For those who are now curious about this place, you can find out lots by following the link:-
http://www.history.com/classroom/unesco/timbuktu.html
and as a matter of interest my friend David is the only person I have ever known who has actually been there, so this was apt for today's events and why I knew it was in Africa.
Finally, just for completeness I knew where Richmond Road was as well, but I hate talking to chavs after dark!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment