Cocktails, dressing up, haemorrhaging from your mouth on the dance floor … why can’t every Friday be like this? Come to think of it, I think it is in certain establishments. The best Halloween, nay the best NIGHT, for ages. Outfit courtesy Primarni and kitchen knives, make up courtesy Paul Mayers and the make up of make up artists purchased at Spar. Cheap and chilling. The highlight was my very own lobotomy scar, pictured. Spookily real, in fact two punters in Via Fossa thought it was real and flinched when I made them stroke it. Mwahahaha. The Zombie Pride party at Legends was so much fun, great music, strip show and the swapping of undead beauty tips (‘But black lips make my teeth look yellow!’ ‘Just bloody them up then!’) … Amaze.
Last weekend I went to London for the first time in, God, three years? My little sis Clare is living in Kentish Town and my half-planned idea of a bit of art, bit of theatre, bit of culture went right on the train to Titsville. Instead we went on a bender round Kentish and Camden Towns on the Friday night: Abbey, World’s End, Black Cap, Dublin Castle … lager lager lager. We were so drunk in the Dublin Castle we were sitting next to the discarded glass spot at the bar and drinking other people’s skanky half-finished pints without even realising. We’ll probably all catch gingivitis and it’ll serve us right. Also met lovely Kev, an internet friend who it turns out is actually a real person, and really lovely to boot.
Saturday I managed to buy FOUR items of clothing. FOUR! This would normally represent a successful year of clothes shopping for me, never mind a single day. Very chuffed indeed so got dressed up on the Saturday night and me and Clare ate Japanese food by the river then ran across the bridge in the pouring rain and howling wind with a three quid inside-out umbrella, screaming. Halfway across we simply gave up, tossed a quid to the guy playing steel drums there and danced with the fuzzy lights of London at our feet.
Passion fruit cocktails at Lab, go-go boys at Village Soho then utterly trashed at Trash Palace where Boogaloo Stu presided over an hysterical multiple choice celebrity question cake-eating competition and uttered the immortal line: ‘Take your knickers off and eat two cakes’. Stupid queue at Ghetto so last Southern Comforts for the road in 12 Bar then a series of wobbly night buses and falafels home to NW5. Such fun.
Miserable trip home in the rain and traffic next day, punctuated by an evil meal at Burger King where I had a bean burger and fries and felt riddled with shame even as the carbo-high kicked in. Home to a weirdly dry Manchester and a forlorn feeling in the flat. As ever after a trip to London I return full of excitement and what-ifs . . . ? What if I moved there? What if I hated it? What if I missed everyone too much? What if I can never ever buy my own place? What if I go for just a year? What if there’s no job for me in Manchester when I come back? What if I grow a backbone and just DO IT? Answers on a postcard please …
