5 of 6 thought this review was well written
Feeling restless. Been harping on all day about going out to 'catch the buzz', whatever that means. Wanted to go and watch the fireworks in London and then see where the wind took me but this never happened. Instead, me and my pal Charlie shared a couple of beers and watched some Youtube videos - Eddie Murphy 'Raw' and 'Delirious', - man, that guy was funny in the 80's. Then we took off into London proper, catching one of those big red buses where I met this hot little thing Natasha. Any opportunity to strike up some decent conversation was ruined by the drunken mess screeching into my ear on the right. Yasmin's this kind of big buck-toothed bitch, think she's half-Moroccan. Whatever she is, she's always stinking drunk and repeating the same stories into my ear, pausing only to comment on how crazy she is or how nice I am. Personal space is beyond her understanding and I'm not sure that anybody actually likes her; could possibly like her.
We leave them at Canning Town and get the Tube, followed by the overground to Shoreditch High St. My friend Jim lives just off Brick Lane on the top floor of a 6 story block with his model girlfriend Nancy, best friend Louis and the Kiwi - Olaf. Olaf was out but 'Tribley' and 'Breger' were round instead. We sat around smoking and drinking for hours, conversations about things I can't recall. We were snorting line after line of cocaine and memory is beginning to get a bit hazy, but I seem to recall Louis and his lazy-eye swapping a too-big or too-small blue Ralph Lauren plain blue polo for Tribley's phone. When Oliver Cheatham's 'Get Down Saturday Night' came on everybody began to dance, it was something magical. Individually and instinctively it happened but it grabbed us all and swept us into a collective whirring of limbs and swing and ***ing dance man. I can't describe how beautiful a moment that was. We left Jim's by 2am - there was small argument over where to go - Louis was very insistent on Cargo, I don't think he'd ever even been before. He and Tribley took off in that direction whilst the rest of us dithered. I remember wishing I had followed, although it turns out they left pretty quick in their drug-fuelled madness.
Spirits were low, I felt like my search for the buzz had ended in complete failure (and it had). Somewhere along the line I had lost sight of my goal ...also, I missed her - my sweet darling. Me and Charlie took the bus back to uni at about 4 in the morning, following a trip to the bagel bar ('best bagels in london
'). Poor guy suffers pretty bad with travel sickness and threw up chunks when we got off the bus and rushed straight up to bed. I grabbed a couple of friends and went back out into the cold to sit under the bridge and have a spliff. We sat enjoying the small hours of the morning, looking out to the lights at Canary Wharf but it wasn't long before our peace was shattered. Some scummy cunt saw fit to light and throw a firework directly at us, we ran and barely got out of the blast radius. Inside I was furious and begging for confrontation but didn't act. Effects of drink had long since worn off in the cold air, and slight paranoia was beginning to kick in. I do not sleep for hours and eventually drift off in the early morning sun.