I really won’t be coming back
It was a free bar at the Audi showing of The Last Jedi at the Bafta Piccadilly Theatre the other week. Had some non-alcoholic cocktails. After the film I went out with a couple of friends, they had a quick 2 pints in a local boozer whilst I had a water. My good friend commented on my non-drinking as ‘don’t worry, you’ll be back’. Interesting turn of phrase. I love him dearly, and he has good reason to dismiss my abstinence as whimsical. A phase. I’ll be back, with a drink in my hand, talking rubbish, pissing myself on train rides home, in no time at all.
I am a man who struggles with focus. Yes. I struggle to see things through to their conclusion. Whether it’s a book project, a podcast, hell I was even a vegetarian throughout my 20’s. But like Deniro would tell Pacino in the infamous coffee scene in Heat, ‘I ain’t never going back’.
I’m writing this on my first morning in my new flat in Shoreditch. I’ve propped a hot water bottle on my lap and am drinking tea with no milk. I’ve been up since 5am, reading books on James Bond for both work and pleasure. I’ve written this at pace but won’t proof read as I need to crack on and call the buildings super intendant. There’s a reassuring ‘beep’ coming from every smoke detector on every floor of the building. I’ve disabled the one on my floor but I can still hear the echoes of the ones above and below. I stopped my new neighbour Gordon on the stairs yesterday, out of puff he remarked on the noise as ‘we’ve come to learn to live with it’. Awesome. Someone as also fly tipped two bags of shit outside my door which will no doubt be decimated by foxes and vermin.
Anyway, I’m still flying, turning down free bars, getting up the crack of fuck getting shit done. Not starting the week behind the 8-ball. Thanks to my good friend if you’re reading this for the invite, The Last Jedi was an amazing experience in that theatre.