I went there to say hello to some friends. The second day, in the afternoon, my dandy friend forbad me to drink water with his left hand. Red wine sometimes is delightful, some others is liquid headache in a bottle. In Albion it is always delightful especially with a sandwich made of dry tomatoes and shining kindness.
Cigarettes were like minutes in the white warm flat somewhere in Camdentown, waiting for somebody like waiting for Godot. My bladder start to be tired when the sun went down and people, not like godot, arrived with ice, bottles and a lot of words coming out from their mouths.
My stomach started to speak english with the others and it was time to have dinner, but last gin & tonic, please!
Again somewhere, in Soho, spanish red wine in ours galasses, people with noses, big noses, people with hairs, long hairs, people with surenames, a lot of surnames.
"Take it, take another little peace of my heart" but the girl at the door didn't like Janis Joplin. Me and my friend had to smoke a cigarette, i had to drink some water and leave my wings at the entrance. You have to be calm in the club, like in a church, you can't dance with people especcially in the V.I.P. zone, you can't drink from the bottle even if there is not fucking glasses at your table, you can sing, yes if you want you can sing moving a little your legs and clapping your hands like in a church, as i said. But the funny part of the story comes if you do all that is forbidden.
And than it was time to go, to take your coat from the wardrobe, to lose your wings and the guys that were with you.
I was outside, without my address and without my wings, looking for an hotel. At the third attempt i decided that i wanted to book a room in french. the consiege didn't speak french even if a fucking consiege is supposed to speak french too. I said to him that he was a fucking consiege of an hotel and he was supposed to speak french too, because i wanted to take a room in french and not in english. He said fuck off, i said fuck off too and showed him the middle french finger.
I continued to walk with all the possible pride in my chest, it was impossible, after all the english day, to sleep in english. Anyway, the 149 N ended me up in Camdentown and a taxy on a sofa by liverpool station.
Mesdames et Messierus bienvenue à...I woked up, sitted on a landed plane, a britsh airways steward asked me if i was feeling better and i grumbled something like sweet/ sweet/ sweet love, sweetest hangover..