What is the fucking point? I was invited round to Margaret Cabourn-Smith & Dan Tetsell's flat yesterday to meet their new baby, Amy. I brought booze, flowers and Bennett Arron (actually that bit was awkward. Bennett was on his own in a nearby Starbucks and I couldn't just leave him there). Their flat is in Hammersmith, one of the many places in West London that thinks street signs are crass and unnecessary. Firstly, my train is late. Then I get on a tube that is so slow it feels like it's going backwards in time. Then when I get to Hammersmith, Bennett starts pissing about crying that he wants to get a present for the baby. He's never met the baby. He has no concept of what this person likes but decides he must buy something anyway. The fucking idiot. He buys something that is pink because Bennett is a sexist. I'm bringing a sexist round to my friend's house. Fucking brilliant. I might as well have knocked on their door and given them Jim Davison as a present. Anyway, we were late and I hate being late.
Dan welcomed us at the door with Amy in his arms. She was sleeping and very, very quiet. And that's how she remained for the entire time we were there. The rude fuck. I had come all the way from Lewisham to see her and she acted like she couldn't care less. If you come round to my house, Jerk WHO IS A DOG, not even a human, will at least wag her tail and sniff your crotch but this was all frankly beneath Amy. Luckily, Margaret's sister had brought an emergency baby with her so we could all smile at clap at her. Mabel made the effort, Amy. Learn from her. I'm hopefully seeing Rob Hitchmough's new baby, James, next week and if he doesn't jump through hoops and juggle I'm fucking off to the pub.
After some champagne and a lovely time with Dan and Margaret and, I suppose, Amy, sexist Bennett and I went out to discuss our play that we've been talking about for the past few months. It's amazing the many and varied topics of conversation you can come up with when you know you should be talking about work. Actually, we had a really nice night. Lots of drinking and pop-quizzing. Fun. Fun that was slightly ruined by a man who joined us without introducing himself and spent far too long just staring at me without saying anything. It was very uncomfortable. At least Amy was just rude, this man was utterly creepy. It was a bit like a ventriloquist had just left his life-size dummy down at our table and fucked off.
Then a drunk big mental decided he wanted to talk to me while I was on my train home. "Where's Hayes?" was his opening gambit. Not "Excuse me, can you tell me where Hayes is, please?", just "Where's Hayes?".
I think my reply to him was justified. "Eh?", I said.
"Hayes. Where is it?".
By this time, I had pretty much run out of conversation with him. "I don't know", I said hoping that would be the end of our friendship.
"Hayes. In Kent.", he continued.
"Well, it's in Kent", I said. Great. That's bound to be it all over now.
"Yeah. Whereabouts?"
FUCK. "I don't know", I said while burying my head in my iPod.
"It's West Wickham way".
"Right".
And that was it. He didn't say another word. He wasn't looking for directions, he was pop-quizzing me. On a train. After 11.30 at night. While wiping ketchup off his knee. You really do learn something new everyday. If you meet enough of the right nutters.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
No comments:
Post a Comment