What a bloody week; tears and tantrums, things getting thrown. None of them were mine by the way. Mine was sorrow; almost as if someone had died. Not mention the high jinks and euphoria some people were experiencing this week. One a better note, I haven’t been out or had any alcohol since Saturday night. I got really drunk in my favourite bar in Soho Rupert St on Friday night to the point that they even refused serve me. The manager who also happens to be an acquaintance led me back to my friends and quietly spoke to them. Whilst he was talking to them, I walked out in order to come in again using another entrance to go to the toilet. The bloody bouncers wouldn’t let me back in. So my friends put me in a taxi and sent me packing off home. Got home, fell into the cacti bush outside my front door and then got in. surprisingly not, I walk up with three thorns in my thigh. Made me wonder why I did not feel the pain whilst.
I woke up on Saturday feeling like a wounded Lion. Started to limp around the flat, refused to eat, and limped some more then went back to bed. Ingemar my friend came back from Sweden in the afternoon. Silas had arrived before him. At approximately 3.00pm, the mayhem started all over again. More wine till about 10.00pm when we all decided to go out. I have to say this is 4 of the best best nights I’ve had in London. We always end up at Fire. It’s a club that one could say is dirty in all aspects. Never go there wearing white shoes, they’re always black and muddy by the time you get home. Don’t ask me why this happens. Also, it’s not as if we’re dancing somewhere outside in a field. The same thing happens to your clothes. They played my favourite song of the moment - Beautiful liar (I like the original but prefer this re-mix by the Freemasons). Left the club at 12.00pm on Sunday on a high. Gosh I'm really hard core.
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