Party, Bjorn and NightBus

 

The weekend was not uneventful.

Saturday was Fred's birthday party, which Terese and I went to. We'd planned to stay a while and then go to a hat party in South London, but the lure of booze and schlager music ensured that we couldn't leave and indeed we stayed longer than everyone else. Oops. And we all trundled off to the Black Cap in Camden to drink more and watch a terrible Philippino transvestite sing songs well and over rely on the phrase, "me lub you rong time" to raise a non-existent laugh.

The crowning glory of any night out in London is the nightbus trip home. And the wildlife you may see there.

Saturday night was a corker. Tired and slightly fed up that I have a possible 2 hour trip home on the bus, I plonk myself on the first seat available. Only for some dirty man with drug-induced pressure of speech and crutches to sit down opposite me and start off on his hard-luck story which ends with him aggressively asking for money. Apparently he tried to kill himself a few weeks ago but broke both his legs and he's a successful rapper and he's just down on his career and HE JUST NEEDS SOME HELP TO GET HIMSELF BACKONHISFEETANDIDON'TLIKEASKINGBUTINEEDSOMEHELPHAVEYOUGOTANYMONEY?

"Sorry, no." I replied firmly.

"WHYAREYOUBEINGLIKETHIS. MATE"

"Because it's true." I stated.

"Oh. Sorry", he said, and walked off, his crutches dangling from his upper arms.

And then I change buses and sit down, only for a man to sit opposite me. I spent the next 20 minutes trying not to look at him. Why? Because he looked rough as [insert expletive]. On his knuckles wsa tattooed the words "L.O.V.E" and "H.A.T.E" and his left eye was a little bit mushy looking and rather unlike an actual eye.

What else can happen on the night bus? Well, as we reached the end of the journey (which ended three stops earlier than usual for some reason) and the bus driver told everyone to get off I spotted a man asleep. So everyone got off, and I called out to the bus driver and asked him to hang on a moment while I wake up the man. And as the man wakes up, the bus starts moving. Heading back into central London. How nice. And it stops suddenly at traffic lights. So I ask the bus driver to open the doors and let us off and he starts shouting at me. I shout back. I walk up to the cab and explain that I just asked him to wait a minute and he just starts having a go at me again. At which point I just put my hands up and shout "OH, WHATEVER".

Night buses are fun.

On Sunday Terese and I went to see a Swedish band, Peter, Bjorn and John. Except that John was stuck in Dublin, so some un-named hotness was playing the drums. Terese and I were both tired and miserable, feeling like pensioners at a too-cool-for-school kids club. And after the crap support artists and rotten dj we were ready to go home, but fortunately the band were great. Bizarre, but great with guitar solos, singalongs and on-stage fights.

Swedish bands are fun.