Life is so surreal sometimes. Like standing outside a New Cross pub at 1am on a Sunday night talking to a guy called Silvestre Grant. I don’t think I have ever heard such a cool name in mylife. But even in such a crazy/ridiculous situation as this you still come across inspiration… I was doing the standard thing of lamenting the lack of real hardship in the so-called “ghettos” here compared to where I’ve been, but then he made a good point:
“But you’ve got to understand, I live in shared accommodation, and I know people here who haven’t worked for years and years, and they are feeling frustrated…”
It struck me as a truth that I hadn’t considered before. Every person looks abroad and around the world to see how they can change it, but do you ever wonder about the people here?
Anyway, this was only serving as a brief after-thought to the weekend that had preceded it. In general terms, it involved a lot of rum and coke and not much time at home. But on closer analysis, I’d describe it as like floating through a dream that you don’t want to end…
Of course, Fifi was there for it all. I’m not even gonna be cryptic about it. She is absolutely my hero and inspiration rolled into one.
On Friday night it started with a rave at a club in London Bridge. When we walked down I saw friends in the queue so I said the prolonged equivalent of “get on your bike” and we skipped all of that… BYE QUEUE!
Another post-South-America development that I’ve noticed in myself is an absolute lack of inhibitions, so my night mainly consisted of finding the middle of the hip-hop crowd, standing upon my wheelchair and then dancing like there is no tomorrow. Also, in this club, they had a scanner which took your fingerprint every time you walked in or out. What! Considering I had just written an article called ‘Surveillance State?’, I really was not feeling that. So I just didn’t do it. And to add insult to injury, said “Rah talk about police state!” every time I walked past the bodyguards manning them.
On the way home, much, much later that night (i.e. Saturday morning) someone tried to get on the bus but his travelcard had expired, so my friend Justin lent him his, but the driver wouldn’t accept that either. So he went “Fuck all of you…[points at Justin]… except you” and stormed off. Classic.
In the spirit of creativity check this out… there is a new craze on Facebook where you write 25 “things” about yourself, so let me incorporate this:
1. I need love.
2. I do really admire Che Guevara, but since South America and reading his book, I kind of feel like I’m merking him out.
3. Hip-hop is definitely the soundtrack of revolution.
4. The linguist across the seas and the oceans / A permanent itinerant is what I’ve chosen…
5. Rum and coke.
6. Whose World Is This?
7. We’re sleepwalking into a police state.
8. Paper Planes.
9. Unless you can do a convincing owl impression, get on your bike.
10. Fuck writing 25 things about myself I’m not that arrogant.