Some hangovers come on the afterbeat. I realised that I still had been drunk for all of yesterday, as I woke up shitting Guinness into the toilet bowel this morning. I heard the fizzing sound as well. If I got the divorce-papers from my bowels' lawyer in the post today, I wouldn't be surprised. But I did feel better afterwards. I then watched iPlayer from 8 till 2.
After that, cheered up considerably, considering the day before, I worked for an hour on my set and felt quite happy about that but felt most pleased with a single joke I came up with in the shower. It helped me get ready to face the world at large once more. I had thought before I fell asleep last night, that this day would be one of those days where I wouldn't leave the house at all today. Luckily I was wrong.
I went into Brighton to write, and I locked my bike against the tiny steel fence around a tree. As I looked to my right, I saw a Big Issue seller. I always feel a sting in my heart when I see them, yet in my ongoing attempt to be a bit more of a bastard I force myself to walk on and pretend not to care. It's patronising to give money to Big Issues salesmen. Plus I bought one from one of them in Edinburgh and it was disappointing. As I was fighting with the lock, I saw an old man coming up to the homeless man. I still had my iPod in, so couldn't hear their conversation. It soon became apparent that the man was very angry at the Big Issue salesman, and was admonishing him for something. I took out my earplugs. Even the people on the bench turned round.
The man, apparently, was angry at the Big Issue seller, saying that he was out of a job for years, having to live off very little. But, the old man said, he got by. He was going (I paraphrase): 'You've got some guts coming here, begging for working people's money! You should be ashamed of yourself!' Just as it looked like things could turn ugly, the old man left, leaving us feeling a bit weird about it all. I finished locking my bike and got up. The Big Issue seller went on trying to sell his paper. Knowing that I had already acknowledged his existence, he asked me if I wanted to buy one; but I, evilly, ignored him. I am a bastard. When walking away, I thought that he might punish me by weeing on my bike, which would be fair enough, to be honest.
I finally went into Café Nero, and, again, thought for too long about what to buy. Don't know why, to be honest. All coffee is the same there anyway; it's more about having an excuse to sit anywhere for a prolonged period of time. I like Café Nero and similar chains for three reasons. One: People who sit there by themselves don't really want to be there and so get the stuff done that they need to do, such as writing, reading notes or read a book and therefore waste time by going out and living instead of being inside and not doing so. I might be projecting. Two: People who sit there with others are there because they need to talk about serious stuff that they can't in pubs (which are predicated on a shared sense of fun). Three: it's a combined heaven and hell for caffeine-addicts who don't mind being patronised.
This is a bit I wrote when there: why the bum is the Air Con so aggressive? It's giving me pneumonia of the ears! I moved to the right, which unfortunately isn't as hidden as the other spot. It's slightly better on the coldness-front, though. A lady sits down at that place now. Good luck!
In conclusion: I love Caffè Nero for it's not immediately necessary to have a good time there, but ok if you do. It's also socially accepted to just sit down in by yourself and not really do anything else without being a scary stalker.
Which leads to another entry in the category: I SEE DUTCH PEOPLE: just seen two. A grandmother struggling to be nice to her chubby grandson, who only wants chocolate-based crap. She came back with 2 poshly dressed girls. I immediately hated them. By the way, note the innate sense of class warfare in my rhetoric. It's obvious. You can take a child out of Steiner School...
After I came back to my bike, I had a chat with the Big Issue Salesman; which I might tell you about, but not today. Ha! Beat that, Hitchcock! Who's the master of suspense, now?