Friday, April 23, 2004
I go out on Friday night and I come home on Saturday morning
In the vague and distant hope that I’d know somebody there (I always used to, back in the day [the day being about 6 years ago, now]), I’ve just been down to the Brunswick Arms for a pint of Guinness. I didn’t know anybody there. Sure, I recognised a dozen, two dozen faces, the barmaid, the landlady, several drinkers, but I didn’t know anybody. I used to be able to go for a pint at 3pm and chew the fat with people, I knew everyone there when I was 19. Oh well.
I walked home along the seawall and up the cliff, intending to stand on one of the breakwaters and listen to Spirit Of Eden (I thought about buying some closed back Sennheiser PX200s earlier today to cut out the train noise which so pisses me off each morning, but remembered that if I did that I wouldn’t be able to hear waves lapping against the shore as I stood in the dark listening to Bark Psychosis or Talk Talk, and spent the cashmoney in the 5 for £30 campaign in Virgin instead). Sadly there were fishermen on each breakwater and a gaggle of teenage kids spread across the seawall and up the cliff face at several places. So I turned the iPod off.
And oh how it made me wish I was ten years younger and could hang out on the beach at night on a Friday and imagine what sex was like and smoke spliffs and think beer was foul and talk about who we hated and who we loved and how cool this was and feel sick at the thought of getting off with that girl and excited at the prospect at talking to this girl and feel jealous of my cooler better looking friends who were actually having sex somewhere and instead we would be setting a bonfire in the middle of the beach and taking a piss against the sandstone cliff to see if I could erode it and placing a bench on top of the beach hut as a statement and never ever ever even considering the prospect that one day I’d be nearly 25 and go out in Dawlish on a Friday night and not know anyone.
4/23/2004 09:56:00 pm