Chocolate Socialist (braisedbywolves) wrote,
Chocolate Socialist

Dear Diary...

Friday! Work, then King's Cross! Nine jinxremoving! Who is at least a foot shorter than I thought I remembered! Kerfuffle finding Ellie spittingkittens, then over towards Oxford House! And to meet ultraruby and Nine's old friend. La Forchetta in fact every bit as good as La Porchetta! Home while Nine and Ellie went to their first event of Transfabulous. An attempt to meet them later foiled by correct spelling!*

Saturday! Off to tube walk! Freemason's Cafe! On Freemason's Road, in fairness. A long walk from Custom House station, next to the ExCel, to Prince Regent.. next to the ExCel. Then down to help Charlie No. 4 move house, and back to Transfabulous for the carnevale. We get in, we sit down, we're told that it's happening all around the space. Which means a DJ in the seated area, and three unamplified performances in the long inacoustic hallway next to it. During which they close the bar. Still, there's nice company, some of it entirely unexpected, and Nine getting more and more nervous until Jess sinsense finally turns up, having flown from Rome. She is glad to see a) everyone and b) Nine. She is one of the right kind of Americans, who make you feel like you're in Metropolitan, but in a good way. Afterwards there's actual performances in the actual performance space, which is nice. And hot!

Afterwards myself and Emma gallantly offer our house as a post-party destination where people can chat and Jess and Nine can be all star-crossed and shit, so we (the above-mentioned and Helen libellum) head back there via a long discussion of what public transport options to utilise, which Nine ends with the perfectly reasonable "... but what about my chips?" Back home, we all stay up talking for a very long time, until at around 4 a lightbulb goes off over my head and I excuse myself for the night, promising Jess that I'll gladly get up at 8 to show her to the tube, for her 11 o'clock flight back to Rome (Yes, she is a mental. but a lovely one!).

There then follows a confusing blur of recollections which starts with Jess knocking on my door asking if I'm ready yet, and ends with me standing in the door of the living room asking if it's possible that Jess's alarm is still on Rome time, and whether it might in fact be 7 AM. The only good thing about this incident is that time's arrow takes me further from it with every second that passes. And then it was 8, and farewell to our intrepid visitor.

Nothing really happened that I recall on Sunday.

Monday was work, and then down to Guava on Green Lanes, for excellent Jamaican food with Emma, Nine, charleston, whatsagirlgotta and Nine's friend Smiley Nick. The service was fairly prompt, but we weren't: the 7-ish start was actually half eight before we all sat down. Though we did fill a lot of time with a round of "how do you know....?". As with the previous entries, this was just a lovely opportunity to sit down and talk with people.

Um, that's kind of all that happened this week? Black tie hire on Tuesday and buying a suit on Friday, but what that's for, is for next time.

* The lot of them had gone on to another place, so Nine rang me to tell me the name and texted me the address. It was only when I mentioned it to Emma khalinche that she pointed out that people don't really go there for drinks, and also that straight boys are Not Really Welcome. The problem of course is the original phone call: I'd heard Club Fuck, which could of course be a hipster-infested pub somewhere. In fact it is Klub Fukk, and so being mispelled must perforce do exactly what it says on the tin.
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