Archives for posts with tag: jamaica

On Friday night I went to a friend’s house for her birthday drinks and annoyed and flattered a young woman who was the coolest and best looking member of one of my favourite bands (I say young woman, I don’t really know how old she is but she looks about twenty three(see, my mum always said I was such a flatterer)). I was looking through the Facebook event beforehand to see if there were going to be any hot chicks there, but it isn’t obvious from her profile picture that she is the same lady I remember signing my ticket all those years ago (it was on my wall for years). I spent the majority of the evening sitting talking to a couple of friends, getting drunk, and didn’t  really speak to anyone new apart from a girl who lives with a friend of mine. But then I realised that the good looking girl at the other end of the table, who I hadn’t even made eye contact with and was obviously in some kind of wonderful new relationship, was incredibly familiar. I mentioned to my friend that her on the other side looked like the former bassist from this band, as I had taken him to see them a couple of times, but he had no idea. I asked the birthday girl who this other lady was and she came straight out with it, because I wasn’t quite drunk enough to walk up to a stranger and ask if they used to be a band I love. It turns out, however, that I was drunk enough to probably make a little bit of a fool out of myself in front of a good looking girl (I don’t have to be drunk). I think that maybe she was a little annoyed to begin with, but then I soon got her engaged (obviously, my mum says I’m really witty and charming and good looking). I think I impressed her by expressing a knowledge of the difficulties and hardships of being a professional musician (my dad used to be a drummer but he wasn’t cool and exciting – he didn’t get drunk until he was twenty four, the first time he got stoned it was by accident, getting high from second hand smoke from American G.I.’s returning home from Vietnam via Germany, and my mum left him because he was boring – although it does provide a platform from which to chat shit). Apparently she now lives in the same town as me and plays a lot of Nintendo. I don’t really care for Nintendo, but I don’t mind that she does.

Today then being my first chance, I immediately went onto Facebook and found her. I didn’t add her as a friend, because I don’t want her to know how stalky I am. I did find her blog though, which further proved how cool she is. The first line I read was “Millions of dollars/pounds/euros and knuts”. If you don’t understand why that is cool, I am not going to explain. There is other cool stuff on her blog, but that quote is enough. Maybe I will just send her a message and be all cool, something like “Hey, I met you on Friday night, you recognise the moustache, let’s be friends”. One of her recent blog posts is about Valentine’s Day and one of the things she said to do was “just propose. Seriously. Even if the love of your life has no idea you exist then propose to them. They will get so confused they will just say yes.” I like older women (I can only assume she’s older because they met at university whilst I was still at school) and I don’t actually want to be close to any women (thankyou, mother) so I probably won’t do that, but maybe I will. I haven’t decided yet. As I don’t actually want to be close to anyone she will just be the next far away person I fixate on for a day or two. But I met her! Such a fucking loser, and I don’t even really like music that much.

Lots of people have problems. If you’re normal then you have to just get the fuck on with your life or end it. You can come to terms with your problems, or struggle on with them, or bury them. I like burying them deep. If you’re rich, you can just throw money at the problem until the money runs out or you die.

For the past year or two I’ve been spending most of my time with mostly quite common people, all going to work and then consuming various substances (alcohol) to enable us to continue with our lives. I was raised in a well to do upper-middle-class environment and I still cling to that, because it’s all I have. My parents came from nothing and that is where they have returned to. My dad’s dad was an immigrant (A BLACK MAN!) and my dad’s mum was of poor (obviously) Irish stock (niggers of Europe). For the past several years my dad has been one of those dole scum that you hear about, stealing our benefits money, getting loads of women knocked up and killing their kids for profit. My mum’s parents are Scots and that’s where she’s moved back to. She’s quite well to do, lives in a nice area, but it’s all fucking relative. You should see the place, then you’ll understand why I love the South of England so much. 

So I make do with what I’ve got; my charm, wit, intelligence and good looks. I am like the Irish chap from the Woody Allen film about tennis where he falls in with the English Upper Classes and Brian Cox becomes his father-in-law (hehehe) and he kills that young American woman that the guy from Entourage is into. Oh, and sheer bloody luck,

I get on with things. I had forgotten that you could throw money at your problems to make them go away, until my friend told me a funny little story about a minor television celebrity paying for their child’s cosmetic surgery. That just seems to be the thing to do. Self-esteem only costs several thousand pounds. 

On a completely separate note: you can live in a house that is worth 90 times more than I earn in a year, but you can’t buy taste. You can buy expensive interior decorators to make it look like you have no taste. I’m sure that you can still be a lovely person?