30 July 2009

CJ gets glum

Got this email off CJ yesterday:
Oz, thought I'd better contact you in case you thought I was having a nervous breakdown or something. As it happens I am. 

Well, not so much a nervous breakdown as a continuation of the same mid-life crisis I've been going thru for the last about 5 years: meaning that I just totally lack confidence about who I'm supposed to be these days. Can't take drugs. Can't drink. Can't face crowded rooms. Can't stand loud music. Can't allow myself to be attracted to people. Can't bear the sight of other people having fun. Etc Etc.

Um, I also can't remember what happened to me the last time I saw you. Did I manage to pay you back the money I owed? I know I had none left in my pocket when I woke up the following day, also burdoned with a terrible sense of guilt about god-knows what. My very existence I think.

Anyway, I don't know if you are still interested in helping me out with the site. It definitely needs updating, plus I'd like to be able to sell some of my books thru it, if you know how to go about that. I have about 200 copies of Fierce Dancing, and about 100 of the Arthur book, which I'd like to sell. I need to start writing again or I really am going to go bananas.
All the best,

I wrote back:

Hi Chris,
Naw, I didn't think you were having a nervous breakdown! I just thought the lazy bugger can't be arsed to email!

Mid life crisis; shmid live crisis.You’ve never been that confident about who you are anyway have you mate? Always questioning everything, over analysing! Trying to understand. That’s one of the things I love about you. Recently: more quietly just getting on with it, I thought. A quieter confidence. An intense confidence still. Always fired me up mate. And still does. I can’t believe you feel so down. Who are we supposed to be anyway? Get thinking about questions like that and you’re gonna need a 3 year degree in philosophy before you even begin to understand the question. You never could take drugs or hold your drink or stand loud music <;-)> So don’t take drugs! Or drink so much! Stay in and read a book! Be yourself.

I’m totally with you though on the ‘Can't allow myself to be attracted to people’ idea. That’s a whole heap of complexity there mate.Last time we met we were a few sheets to the wind but I think we had fun! And a good talk. I though you talked a lot of sense. Don’t remember about any money owing thing though. Must be because I renewed your website subscription fees.We gotta meet and talk some more about this. When you free?

That 'Last time we met we were a few sheets to the wind' comment was a bit of an under-exaggeration. We were totally fucked! CJ's arm was trembling like he had some brain disease. That was the night he told me he'd seen my ex Nicky. She'd come running up to him whilst he was delivering his letters (he's a postman) and had a chat with him talking about the old days. He said she asked after me and then started crying.

Pains my heart to hear that. I'm still deeply hurt by the way she split our relationship. She left me a note on the coffee table for me to read when I'd got home from work. Nice. She left me and went to live in a van with the sound system's ex lighting man. Still fucking hurts to write about it here but it has to be said. She left all her friends; all her old life. Hasn't been in touch with anyone since. Till she pulled CJ up that winters day in 2006.

So, had this drink with CJ last night. He was quite depressed. Couldn't get back into his writing again. Was dry. Restricted by his job and the need to get up at 5 in the morning. Not wanting to drink because he thinks he has problems there. Frightened to have a relationship; fearful of intimacy. Yet wanting it so bad it was beginning to make him ill. He didn't ask me about my life or how I felt but then I figured I was there for him that night and needed to be a listener for him. Which I was. I invited him to my DJ gig but whether he decides to come or not remains to
be seen.

As a footnote to CJ's website, check out his blog (not updated for a while for obvious reasons) but still worth checking out. Its called ten thousand days.

29 July 2009

T17. our uninspiring “let’s be mates” walk

Been worried about how I might react to Tort and Jay suddenly coming along to everything as a new couple. Smug fuckers. Though it would cut me up and leave me anxious but things didn’t work our too bad actually.

I was beginning to think that T was a bit of a selfish predator; cherry picking the men from our group (get me ey!); unaware or objective about whom she hurt along the way. Even when I was fucking her she only cared about her own pleasure I thought. She was quite highly sexed but strangely unconcerned about my pleasure. She seemed a little detached I thought. But then again we were both out of 17 year relationships where the sex had frankly been a bit pants. Her partner was fucking her friend behind her back anyway and mine was fucking the local pikey twat. (What? Doesn’t every group of friends have one? Darling! You must!). So I guess we were relearning how to be intimate again. Feel a bit miffed that I was in a way a practice for the real thing but now she got her wings as it were I thought the pain of seeing her fly again would be too excruciating to bare. Guess what? It wasn’t. I really don’t give monkeys. I hope they have a great time together. They deserve each other.

Jay ain’t the smartest knife in the box so maybe he needs to be dominated by women who are smarter than he is in order to feel in control. Ha! By sheer bad fortune Jay had been booked by me to play The Smack this weekend gone, ooh, months ago. I’d had a few little run ins with him over the years, but nothing serious. He borrowed a maglight from me at a free party. I said please don’t lose it. He lost it. I’d booked him a few times to play gigs with us. He pulled out. We’d asked to borrow some of his kit once or twice; both times he’s said “no”. Not a good start really.
He was having a relationship with a friend of mine, Sara. They split up quite recently. Acrimoniously. Now he’s with my ex. Didn’t really waste any time there. Neither did she. With S he had a ‘bit of a temper on him’. S spoke of hands round throat, shouting tantrums and frosty silences.

Once I had to rescue her after J had flipped out in the car. She was in a right state. I thought this guy could be dangerous. Now he’s with my ex. Anyway, he came down the Smack to play his set on Saturday night. Justin was still milking his birthday ‘week’ and had invited people down to the Neptune for drinks. J and I walk down from the Smack to the Neppy for half an hour or so while MDM played a few tunes. I was going to give him the old ex boyfriend speech about how I hope he looks after her and how he better not try any of his violent ways on her, don’t you
know, but I didn’t. Couldn’t? Why should I feel that I can interfere? It’s her choice and if she wants a relationship with a man with violent tendencies then who am I to interfere in any way? I must respect her choice and let her live it through. I may have to pick up a few pieces at the end – who knows how long it will last? - but it has to be played out without any interference from me. At work on Monday Helene tells me that Tort is going around to everyone in The Neptune saying “have you met my new boyfriend?”. Helene says “course I know him but mainly through tai chi classes.” “You’d think,” she say, “that they’d want to keep it quiet for a bit and I know that Jay doesn’t like that sort of thing.

He’s just come out of a long term relationship and all that…” Maybe that could be Tort s specialist subject: find vulnerable men fresh out of long term relationships and fuck them (up). Mee-ow pussycat. Besides of course everyone knows Jay. We have for years. He certainly needs no introduction to any of the Whitstable lot that’s for sure…

Jay and I continued our uninspiring “let’s be mates” walk to the pub, neither of us saying too much. Once there I bought him a drink and he parted for the other side of the room to see T. I stayed at the bar and chatted to the rather lovely Katrina. She seems more interesting than I originally thought and she went out of her way to chat to me about the film “13” that we both saw at Cinema Three on Monday night. I think I
like her but I know she has a bit of history which I’d like to get her talking about one day. In fact I do like her, she’s very good looking, striking, she’s smart too. Why do I feel nervous? Maybe I’m just a little bit scared of her. Who knows? Would like to get to know her more. I do know she’s single…

Couldn’t stay watching the love birds play happy couples much longer so left for the Smack. Played a bit with Mark (oo-er) then made way for Jay, who was late, around 10ish. He tempered his normally banging set and actually played some nice tunes. I spent most of the rest of night getting pissed and flirting with Geordie Tracey, who was also pissed. Ended up driving her around most of the night; first looking for booze from The Fountain, then driving to J&E’s party then taking her home.
We pulled up outside. It was dark. Tracey banged on the door till it opened and disappeared inside. We waited in the car. No Tracey 10 minutes later. I banged on the pub door. Nothing. Then; get this call from her. “I’m home”, she says. Confusion. Hastily we went round Wor Traces. A house full was getting stuck into her booze – which we’d actually got for the other party up J&E’s. Then we smoked and then had coffee. It was 2.30 3am ish by the time we got to The Paps Nightclub. I say nightclub, I actually mean their garden shed. Long and thin there were 20+
people crammed in there. I’d been getting regular updates at Tracey’s from MDM as to the state of play there.

Call 1: well we’re here mate. Just need to clear with Just about getting the decks in the shed. I suggested he say to Just that he can play his tunes first (a meticulous collection of blues, soul, unusual tunes from bygone era’s and rarities).
Call 2: decks are set up. Justin is on playing.
Call 3: Woo-hoo! I’m on in 10 minutes.
Call 4: I’m on. “Ok mate,” I say. “I’ll be along in half an hour”.
Place was rammed. I work my way down to the front and where the decks are. Katrina is there. She’s an artist but not too pissed. I chat to her.

I feel awkward and uncomfortable and don’t want to fuck things up by saying the wrong thing so just end up mumbling a few pleasantries and probably end up fucking things up anyway. Sara is there too but we don’t talk about the lovers. I think if we did we’d be making it sound like it was important. Besides Sara has a new job as area co-ordinator of the East Kent Syrenians and will probably be looking forward to her newchallenges. Good on her. We both collaborate in our mutual recovery by staying silent.

I wait for my set; texting MDM from the kitchen saying “can I play some tunes please?” After I play I hang out a bit and leave with Tracey who I
drop off at hers before the lonely drive home and the sweet smell of the land of zeds.

Sunday afternoon, 7 hours sleep (although I did dream about my ex and her new boyfriend fucking - not nice!) and a great breakfast later I head up the Saps for our usual Sunday afternoon walkwalk. They are still up. Well wankered. Playing with the barbeque, pottering around, listening to music. I stay a bit but am on another vibe. I head for town, ringing Warren up on the way. It’s Jo’s birthday and I go to there’s for a chat and a drink. Scouse and Simes and Anna are there. We talk about this festival in Spain that they’re going to. Glastonbury by the Sea. I read reviews on the net and it’s around 40 degrees during the day. After going home around 10pm I get a call off J&E; “Justin’s playing at the two Brewers! Come along!” I don’t know where they get the stamina from but I politely decline and head for bed ready for another full day up the University of Kent at Canterbury.

28 July 2009


Boom. Boom. Zoe’s Birthday Party – Botany Bay, Margate 25th July 2009

Boom. We get down the site sometime late afternoon and proceed, with the help of the teenagers, to precariously hump the kit down the chalk cliff to the sandy beach. Once there it was only a matter of setting up between two dune humps and then relaxing to watch a magnificent sunset whilst eating some lovely mozzarella balls coated in pesto washed down with some vintage Cava. Fizztastic.

Boom. Everyone was set up in the camp; tents and flags were a fluttering, BBQ’s a grilling; small children digging in the sand; the teenagers smoking cigarettes; the sun shined; the weather was balmy; the sky blue; the sand cool. All were now riding on the palpable excitement of celebrating Zoe’s 40th birthday and her son’s 21st birthday in a most house party-esque manner. A gathering of friends and family, people who have known and grown up with each, doing what we English do so well; celebrating. Outside in the open air. Ooh, we felt ever so healthy. As the people gathered the vibe expanded; the chat got louder, the laughter got more, er, guffaw-ier; the alcohol flowed; the cameras clicked; the DJ’s arrived. Tanya told us all that after sunrise she had all the food for a great fry up breakfast. The sound check was complete. DJ Charlie, aged 10, was the first DJ on. His music sounded so lovely.

Boom. A middle-aged bearded man and his niece walked up the beach towards us. The little girl had a yellow bucket filled with shells of varying sizes she was excited to show us. As she did her uncle casually said that some metal detector type person had uncovered an unexploded bomb about half a kilometre down the beach and that the police had been called.

Boom. Things unravelled rather quickly. Once the police arrived they wandered up the beach towards us and within an hour an inspector had arrived informing us that our lovely, little, family gathering constituted a rave and that she would be pursuing forthwith the acquisition of a Section 63 order under the police and criminal evidence act 1994 in order for us to cease and desist. Oh, by the way, there’s a 500m exclusion zone around the UXB and your party is within that exclusion zone and we want everyone to leave the beach immediately.

Boom. The music stopped. The beach was cleared in compliance with the police directive for their exclusion zone. As for the section 63 we normally just say them, yeah, go get it, then we’ll stop. This normally takes 6 to 8 hours and, as you know, if they discover the party at say midnight, we still have all night to party and by the time they arrive with the notice it’s 8am and we’re virtually finished by then. However, having suffered the misfortune of a UXB being discovered on the beach around 8pm the police had the fortuitousness to discover our activities further up the beach and thus set off the chain of events that would necessitate the required paperwork from around 9pm. The bomb disposal squad came up from Portsmouth, blues and twos a blazing and arrived around 1am and proceeded to perform a controlled explosion on the beach. Unexpectedly the explosion went pffffutttt! The police officers around me all jumped and exclaimed ‘thanks for the warning’. A teenager shouted ‘that’s the worse firework I’ve ever heard’.

Boom. Thus it came to pass that at 02.30am the orificers of the law duly arrived back on the beach, mob handed, clutching a piece of A4 paper signed by a superintendant. They were ever so excited to be stopping a small gathering of peace loving people. Notice was duly served at 02.45am and we informed that we had to vacate the beach with all our equipment by 03.15am.

Boom! The party was over. Musically at least. The police left. We all still stayed anyway. Lit a fire; sat around it; chatted and drank; watched the sunrise. The fortuitous misfortunitous outcome of a UXB in the middle of a party.

comments from facebook page

Richard Cage
The officer was obviously unused to serving such a notice... she couldn't pronounce "practicable" and her intonation was entirely wrong for the sentence she was attempting to read. Still... I suppose she is satisfied that successfully prevented a major breach of the CJA and ensured that nobody had the innocent fun they were all expecting for the ... Read morecelebration of a friends birthday. All those resources wasted whilst the whole country is strangled by economic recession. Makes you glad to be a tax payer!!

Sun at 20:08Shaun Simo Symmonds - Tosser's!!

Sun at 21:00Jan Paton - wankers!!!!!!!!!! Leave us alone!¬

Yesterday at 08:23Oz Tvc - section 63 of the pace act originally brought in to stop this happening again - castlemorton free paty - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KkLOhmvduE&feature=related or http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4amMvs-_-GU. i don't think 100 friends and family on a beach celebrating a 40th and a 21st birthday constitutes the same thing; do you? methinks the police now abuse this law somewhat...

Yesterday at 14:34 · Kate Clark - this is fall out from the fact that our civil right to assemble was removed by that act. And we pay for the legislators and the policing ps please consider joining liberty, one campaigning group lobbying for change and challenging such actions through the courts (oh yep and please say no to id cards while we have the chance) all this happens with a benevolent government - imagine if the dictators were in charge... xx
Yesterday at 20:20

20 July 2009

She left him 9 months ago

Got a strange phone call from Christmas Chris the other day. It lasted eight and a half minutes and I don’t think I spoke one word during the whole conversation. The gist of it was this; my partner left me because she was a sex addict, you are her friend, I can’t speak to you anymore.

She left him 9 months ago. I’ve got some of my old diaries and there are a lot of entries pertaining to him and his partner T which I think I’m going to publish some time soon. For years, according to C, she was getting off her head at parties and fucking guys. Anyone she fancied apparently. Now I knew of several incidents where she had done this and had not talked about it or mentioned it to C at all. Well, the way he’s behaving now justifies that decision a bit I think. Now he’s off on one. Would it have made any difference if he had known earlier or not? I don’t know and couldn’t possibly speculate because all I know is what’s happening now.

25 years of being with someone and not knowing about their secret sex life? What sort of set up is that? Now, he’s fucking his friends off left right and centre. Saying he can’t even hang around with the party people anymore. How we are all condoning T’s behaviour by not speaking out against it. I don’t agree with that analysis at all but I do agree that people should be allowed to express themselves openly and without prejudice from any one even if that person is your partner.

So this morning it boiled up a bit and I fired off a text to him because everyone pussyfoots around him since his failed attempt on his life. I said “appreciate what you’re going through but there a few points I’d like to make. I’m Paul. Not T’s friend. A person. A human being trying to help a fellow sufferer through some pain. I deserve some respect from u. I’m a friend 2u. don’t reject me or blame me. Others have and it fucks me up. Don’t add 2 it. I’m here if u need 2 talk but u never do. I feel like shit coz of u. push away if u want but it’s the wrong thing 2 do & u know it. Call me. Px”

19 July 2009

1997 part 27 - ‘doing a Pam’

And Sue.
Yes “and Sue”. Sue is one year older than me: she’s 37 or 38 but she ain’t your average late 30’s woman heading inexorably into middle age. Oh no. she’s Conrad's long term partner and full on party person. I think they’ve been with each other about 8 years and like all long term couples I know they have their particular, er, ways of getting along. Unlike Nick and I, or Dee and Scotty or Chris and Terry or John and Pam or Wendy and Stuart or any of the couples together over, say, 8 years, they have their own particular way of keeping it together. I say unlike J&P but in a way they are a bit like them. They stay together and live together and travel together but fuck other people behind each others back and don’t tell the other partner what they get up to. Which is fine if that’s what they both want to do because, you know, all this ‘consenting adult’ stuff only works if both parties are, er, party to the agreement. But where the complications come in is in the scenario of ‘who do you fuck?’

Chris and Terry’s set up is different. C is manic, not a little psychotic, paranoid, insecure, unconfident and it’s a real crying shame but I see him day on day and each time he’s fallen apart just a little bit more. He loves his Terry and I really cry real tears of identification when I see her treat him like she does.Sometimes he looks older than his 40 odd years as his frantic, increasingly agitated efforts to hold on to her love and respect fall away like petals on a dead flower. One by one. Fear. Hate. Loathing. Lonliness. Bitterness. Despondency. Then it’s gone. But not yet! He’s still in there despite his narcolepsy and his fear.

I totally identify with what’s happening to him and I don’t want Nick and I to become Chris and Terry. That would be awful. The complication arises because Conrad is fucking Terry and I feel responsible. Or Terry is Conrad.

In this weird world of deep house the various groups of us around the country (and world) are small and we’re all getting to know each other better. We all travel around playing and visiting each other, forming ties, loyalties and relationships. And it was me who brought the Rogue Sound System down from Lincoln and introduced them to tVC in Kent. Terry. Conrad. They meet and BAM!

Down the Woodpecker on Monday they were like two dogs on heat, man. Fuck. The night before T was giving it some hot moves on all the men back at Rosie’s after we were down the East Kent. She was, with me anyway, doing ‘A Pam’ as I call it. She had on real tight thin material trousers and, you know that crack between the two bum cheeks, well she’d be standing in front of me gently moving up and down on my penis through my trousers. Fine, till an erection began to appear then that fits, yowsa, right in that crack so well. As soon as she felt my erection growing it would be like flicking a switch on in her head and she’d start purring and slinking her body so smoothly… then she’d laugh and her upper body would move forward and her bum would go back and press right hard and then… you know, ‘doing a Pam’.

I'm thinking ‘I’ve got to get out of here. This is too much.’ For Christ's sake both Conrad and Chris are here giving me the hot eye and daggers in the back syndrome. I fuck off upstairs but am dragged in the bathroom where Terry, Rosie, Sara, Emily, Shelly are; it seems all the women.

There’s me leaning on the sink and Terry sinks into my groin again like a car reversing smoothly into its parking space. Sasha gets into the bath with the other 4 women but we leave the door unlocked and start to throw wet toilet paper around. It sticks to the walls and ceiling with a resounding resolute splat and we all giggle loudly and are all having top fun of a sort. A piece of wet paper is thrown just as the door opens and Si Stonehouse appears. It hits him right between the eyes and just sticks there! We finish the vodka off and Sara asks ‘where’s the champagne?’So, there’s me saying I totally identify with Chris and there I am frottaging with Terry! What a hypocrite. Then so is Nicky; fucking snogging with the Catalyst and that’s all she’s admitted to me. What else did they get up to? Leaving parties for hours, going ‘to the pub’, ‘popping’ back to my house to pick up stuff etc. She’s only admitted one snog and I went berserk so she ain’t going to tell me anymore is she? One snog nearly split us up for Christ's sake.

So anyway, after Terry and Conrad get it together at Bysing Wood last spring they had to wait a whole year. Chris was keeping a tight eye on her but she somehow managed to fuck of with Conrad who approached me in the marquee and said they’d fucked four times that day and I said to him ‘don’t you come back later and tell me five’. Not that I approved or anything.

Half an hour later he’s back and as he walks towards me he’s holding his hand up with all five fingers spread wide and a fuck off grin on his face and all I can say is ‘faark off’ and burst out laughing. I’d told Terry ‘you know, what you’re doing is OK but you must finish with Chris first because it’s fucking him up.’ But all she says is ‘don’t tell him please’ and I’m caught up in her conspiracy and feel like a total and utter hypocritical idiot because if Nick ever did that to me I don’t know what I’d do.

18 July 2009

Comedy night with Spencer Brown

Comedy night with Spencer Brown proved to fulfil his reputation to a tee. He hates hecklers and can’t handle them at all. Cue us lot all high on cheap deal white wine from Threshers giving him a bit of stick. This happened at one of his previous shows; there were a group sitting in the front row. Spencer Brown engaged them in conversation but when they spoke to him, he totally lost it. He said to the woman, who was there with her mum, boyfriend and friends, that "he'd never called someone's mum a cunt in front of them before, but your mum's a cunt", then called her that over and over again, He couldn't control himself (he was truly angry and his insults seemed genuine), and he took the cheap option of abusing members of the audience.

Compere Matthew Crosby loves to interact with the audience and he can take anything thrown at him, indeed he encourages it, and the audience totally oblige. We were doing Mexican waves. Last time he was inviting abuse and duly received such highs as ‘get your top off’ (he did) and DFL baiting (down from London), ‘outsider’ he hissed to someone who put their hand up when he said ‘anyone down from London tonight?’. Maybe you had to be there to appreciate how bad it was? It was getting so bad even the hecklers were being heckled by other audience members. ‘Will you shut up?’ Our leader, Sara, strode bravely out with the ultimate heckle guaranteed to throw even the most seasoned comedian; shouting out random words totally unassociated with the show. ‘Spring!’ Oh how I laughed whilst sucking on my chocolate sweeties. Sara even made the local paper’s gossip column last week. ‘My spies tell me…’

After I tried to get into the Soulful Sessions gig at Dukes. Karen from the Smack’s brother was bouncing on the door but wouldn’t entertain entry. I heard later that the police locked them all in, sniffer dogged and searched everyone for drugs. Nice. No wonder their website is down. We’d better watch ourselves at the next Smack gig I suppose.

Well, looked like it was a late drink at the Fountain, the one and only haven for alternative locals to hang out, let themselves go a bit with impunity and get well and truly ratarsed on strong liquor. The place was rammed. All the local scallys’ were there bawling and shouting and generally creating confusion. It was great. Long suffering Martin behind the bar refuelling the masses with a smile. I just sat by the pool table talking to JP, who has just split up with her husband of 5 years, Conrad. Him being one of the stars of my 1997 thread and now living alone in their former family home with no electricity and fucking himself up on highly addictive drugs. Me and Nick dent went around there the other day to pick up some of JP’s stuff but he wasn’t entertaining letting us in. ‘Call and arrange a time to come round’, he said. ‘Can I have your number’, I said. ‘No’, he replied. ND and I ensconced ourselves in the Two Brewer’s while we rang Aurelia, who had his number. When we rang it he didn’t answer so we left a message. So far no reply. What a palaver!

At the Fountain JP mentioned that she and her daughter Jade, who now lives with her, were thinking of having a housewarming party and would we do the rig and provide the DJ’s. Of course I said yes. That’s going to happen this weekend.

17 July 2009

‘Goths and Chavs’

Where do I start with Clare’s ‘Goths and Chavs’ party at Tea and Times the other night? Black painted nails, back combed hair and black clothes predominated. Enhanced by some with patent leather, red, fetishist clothing and white faces and fake spider web finger nails. Oh how we laughed.

My primary concerns that evening were; ignoring Tort and her new boyfriend; ignoring  Julia; keeping the ‘I’m soo over Conrad’ JP and her permanently excited and sweating body away from my quiff and, chiefly, securing some positive time with the lovely Clare. I succeeded in all except the latter; turning into a spongy jelly every time she came near me. I reacquainted my self with K's ex Dave Robert (with no 's'; I was shouting 'Hi Dave Roberts' ans was wondering why he was looking at me funny), who went out with her for five years. It ended, seemingly, according to the local gossip from ND, because he couldn’t commit fully to her son. Which is surprising because he later took on Lorraine’s two kids and was a good dad to them apparently. Don’t believe any gossip, as it’s always half cocked, but it does give me a bit of insider information as I never knew that K went out with DR or that she had a child. Got a call last night anyway from birthday girl Clare who thanked me for providing the rig and DJing and would I like to come over for a meal at, get this, not hers but Katrina’s through the week. Of course I said yes I’d love to.

Sarah, homeless and in a battered woman’s hostel, denied full access to her children and living in a nut house with eastern European ex prostitutes and junkies (ex? I don’t think so), rang me yesterday and we sort of sorted things out from the other night when she got up out of bed at 1am and stormed off in an aggressive huff because I wouldn’t fuck her as much as she wanted me to. Talk about pressurising someone.

It’s not that really. She needs love and that’s how she’s expressing it. The woman is sexually insatiable and the more she behaves like that the more I seem to withdraw from her. ‘I want some thing more than just cuddles tonight’, she said. ‘I need to feel you closer to me’. I was fucked from work and didn’t fancy it. I neede to get to sleep as I had an early start. It was 1am and I was getting increasingly needy of some sleep.

Her Walter Mitty type ex husband is playing some nasty mind games her and despite her saying she is all streetwise and everything she’s actually quite emotionally naïve and is exploited by everyone around her. Except me. I play down this boyfriend girlfriend thing that she keeps saying we have but at the most I only see her once a week for a few hours and all she wants to do is fuck which I don’t. Not that I don’t like to do that but there’s more to life than that and unless the biggest sexual organ we humans possess, our mind, is stimulated then it’s not worth bothering with anything in the first place. I think. What am I? A performing seal. Friendship and closeness has always been more important to me that the mere act of lust itself. Anyway, we may or may to arrange to have a night out this Friday. We’re going to see how it goes. I’m not in love with her and really don’t want her to become too attached to me. She has her court case in London soon where her mother is up for the
attempted murder of her daughter. I kid thee not. Heavy shit. So, I need to be a friend to her and support her through this and show a bit of understating as to why she feels the way she does at the moment. And that’s before the custody case for her two daughters is even talked about. She’s so self conscious about her body too, particularly her stomach which is so stretched after her two kids, that she keeps her arm permanently covering it; naked or clothed. I think she just wants to feel attractive and I’m carrying so much of my own baggage around I don’t know if I’m the person to give her that bolster her ego needs all the time. I try to try my best. She’s got a lot of issues which I don’t even know if I can help her through! Luckily for her it’s manifesting in an obsessive compulsive urge to clean and tidy and fold everything she comes across.

I never got to ignore Tort as she was very friendly and ever so happy I couldn’t be upset with her at all and we ended up having quite a nice night with each other. It started off with me going round Rosie’s to get my costume sorted out, finger nails painted and hair sorted out. I do like spending time with the women when they’re all being girly and we had a good laugh; joking around and taking photos of each others costumes before jumping into my car and heading down town.

I do try to be hurt by Tort but she’s so lovely to me I think I love her even more now that we’re no longer boyfriend and girlfriend. I still really miss that sexual intimacy I used to have with her though. The next day down the Neptune she gave me such a lovely hug and such a deep smile I nearly burst into tears with the love I felt for her. I quite like this ‘let’s be friends with your ex’ thing. It’s really starting to pay off for us. In a way I wish we’d never got together as soon as we did and had become friends a bit more. Oh well.

Pointless time travelling back in time isn’t it? As long as she’s happy with Jay then I’m happy with her being happy with him too. It’s what friends are for isn’t it?

16 July 2009

Pandora’s Other Box

So it was a last minute invite round to Katrina’s last night for a lovely meal with some of her friends. The pretext was that it was still Clare’s 50th birthday celebrations and that they had loads of wine left. My pretext was to get to know C a bit better.

On arrival K was flapping in the very large kitchen trying to get the food together; a sort of Portuguese baby new potatoes and tuna, roasted vegetables and chick peas in some nice sauce with tomato soup for starters. She was well behind as we got stuck into the wine left over from the Goths and Chav party at the weekend. I offered to help and was duly assigned various jobs whilst the others ensconced themselves round the table. K gave me a bit of an ‘interview’, which I didn’t mind at all, asking me what I did for a living and what my qualifications were. We’d never had this conversation and I was a bit worried by her constant ‘really?’ to everything I said in her deep, husky voice. ‘Yeah, I’m a fully qualified chef…’ Deep and husky because she said she had some genetic defect that left scarring in her throat and on her arms and various other places thus causing her voice to sound really deep. She also said she gets fatigued because of it. Although to see her zip around cooking the food and cleaning that kitchen behind her I thought she had bags of energy. Not quite Sarah’s OCD level but heading there. I think she was nervous and she’s usually so confident! The other bit of news I got was that she’s selling up in Herne Bay and moving to Whitstable, so that’s a potential opportunity for more contact there if ever I thought!

Also there was Tracie, the first time I’ve really spent time with her although I have seen her face around town a bit. She’s organising an exhibition in Whitstable called Pandora’s Other Box with K and Clare and Cathy Miles and a few of the other Whitstable female artists. She’d cycled from The Bubble and was training up to do a run soon so was full of that. I’d said I’d get her a pedometer so she can see how far she is running. She’s also allergic to cats so I threw K’s lovely green eyed cat out into the garden with Charlie the dog. Oh, and Clare’s brother Dan was there too. Over from San Fran and amusing us with tales of the ‘events management’ he works on over there. Him and Marc love motor bikes, they found out, and spent most of the time discussing a road trip from San Fran to Alaska which they want to do next year. Yeah right!

I spent most of the night sandwiched between Clare and K chatting away merrily to both of them about the usual shit; food, travel, technology, principally mobile phones and broadband deals. K was increasingly shocked by how cheap technology is these days and vowed to upgrade her creaky old mobile and get online a bit faster. I invited them to my curry night next week. K said how guys don’t like skinny girls and I said some do (I do!) and how I thought she was slender or slim and not skinny which can be seen as a derogatory term.

You know for a weekday night things weren’t too bad and we all had a lovely, nice time. What more can you ask for from a bunch of stranger friends just getting to know each other?

15 July 2009

‘I never went there mate!’

Friday, April 07

‘I never went there mate!’

Christmas C is still well fucked up about Terry leaving him. They say it takes 1 month for every year they were with you to recover from them. C&T were together 24 years and she left him 9 months ago. So, 15 months to go. At least. I’ve already mentioned that C has blown out everyone who he used to party with because he blames us (!) for not telling him his wife was unhappy. He fucking knew she was really.

He just chose to deny it to himself. The affairs. The lies. The deceit. The drugs.

When Tort split with her husband she went to stay at J&J’s, what we called, ‘half way house’; renting a room whilst they sorted their life out.

Tort of course, as you know, and as I’ve documented ad nausium in this very blog, was the first recipient of J&J’s generosity. It was where I first met her and where we first got together. She dumped me once she had her own place and is now seeing one of my mates; but that is beside the point. I just wanted to say it one more time. The Broadstairs Cinema Club will never be the same to me. Sigh!

Now, Terry is ready for the next step. She’s decided to do something. She’s off to Crete for 6 months working in a café for the summer season.

She’s putting a bit of distance between her and her old life and is trying something new for the first time in 24 years. All I can say about this is; about fucking time girl!

Tonight is her farewell meal. We’re all going down to Margate and out somewhere. I don’t know who ‘all’ is though. I know Tortelini emailed me yesterday to say ‘ah, it was funny’ but she wouldn’t be seeing T for ages then the next email said ‘oh, I’m going to the meal’. Can’t even say goodbye to an old mate without ‘her’ being there. So, expect the unexpected is my motto for all things that may be unexpected. I would have preferred a quiet one with a few chums, but maybe she needs one last reassurance that she is still loved before she goes to get her brain stimulated by some holiday experiences. At least over there on ‘holiday’ the thirst for new experiences reigns for the tourists and she’ll slip in to it like a hand in a glove. There's got to be more to life than getting fucked though? Hasn't there? I’m really fucking glad I never ‘went there’ in all the years I knew her so at least I can look CC in the eye and say ‘I never went there mate!’ Don’t blame me for her behaviour.

Or, for that matter, yourself…

14 July 2009

sarah lark is going well pear shaped

So, this Sarah lark is going well pear shaped for me at the minute. I ain't seen the girl for over a fortnight and had arranged to see her the other night at mine at 7pm. I’d bought in some lovely food and wine and was expecting to have a nice quiet night in chilling out and having a laugh. Come 6pm and she texts me going 'oh honey, I’m running very late. I’ll give you a shout when I’m free!' I was down in Herne Bay anyway meeting a venue owner and sorting a gig out for tVC and was running a little late myself but I knew that even if I was at home cooking and prepping she would have still done the same.

How the fuck are you supposed to enjoy a mates company when they aren’t even there. I had a bit of a whinge about ‘if you say you’re going to do something then you should bloody well do it’ stuff and she started crying saying I was horrible to her. I ended up down the Continental getting pissed with Scouse and MDM and we were all giving it the old ‘women ey?’ vibe. Not that we’re sexist pigs at all. Oh no!

Later she rang MDM up, he told me the next day, and was whinging to him about hurt she was by me. Don’t know what sort of game she’s playing there by doing that. Seems wrong to me somehow. I waited 24 hours before contacting her and she was expecting apologies from me but she never once expressed any regret that the whole bloody fuss was caused by her reneging on her deal to me in the first place. I didn’t tell her I knew that she’d rang Marc. Besides, I’m spending more and better time (without the sex though) with Tort at the minute; so it can’t be right that you spend easier time with an ex than you do with a current? What's that all about. Anyway, speaking of T; as I mentioned last week about Rosie cancelling their hol together; when I saw her the other day (went round to hers and cooked her some food - 'meals on wheels Mrs V!') she said she'd booked up her flight to come over and visit you. Nice! See; things do work out in the end ey? I said to her Rosie may be taking the 'Richard Cage' stance at the moment and completely blanking out the ex best mate who slept with ex boy/f or girl/f. Fuck 'em ey?

Some people think they own you even when they don't go out with you anymore. I said give her time; she'll come around. Although when I talked to Rosie she's still a bit sore about the 'betrayal' at the moment.

Last Sunday we ended up down the Neppy. Now, I left about 7pm becasue of work the next day etc but MDM stayed on with Just and Em and they got wazzed on coke and booze and MDM went back to Carole’s and had what he called ‘a wrestle’ with Carole. I think he ‘playfully’ wrestled her to the carpet and thought it was a right hoot. This, according to Carole, upset ‘the kids’ (George and Alma – one in their late teens the other early 20’s and not fucking kids at all really) and Marc was 'asked to leave'. Carole told him the next day to apologise to ‘the kids’ for his ‘behaviour’. He thought he’d done nothing wrong but rang them and apologised anyway. At the Continental this was really sticking in his gut and it all came out about he has never got any respect or acceptance from ‘the kids’ or Carole and has never felt welcome in Carole's house all the 15 years he’s known her and lived there. He was genuinely and deeply upset.

Anyway, I was a bit upset at Sarah for ringing my mate and sounding off to him about me and then not telling me she’d done that. What’s that all about I wonder? Scouse was rattling on about Bean and her lack of willingness to ‘commit’ to him but how he’s really quite ok about it and doesn’t mind ‘waiting’ till ‘she’s ready’. So, the same night, before the barney with Sarah, I rang Chris Goodman up because he hadn’t spoken to me since his 10 minute phone rant 2 months before saying he couldn’t possibly ever talk again to any of Terry’s friends ever again or anyone from the old dance crowd as it was just ‘too painful’ for him. So I rang him. He immediately started to blame me (eh?) for putting on parties and ‘giving everyone’ ecstasy and ‘making’ you ‘behave’ the way you did. I knew about ‘it all’ and ‘never told him’ coz I was conspiring with you to hide it all from him. ‘What sort of mate is that?’ he said. I said listen; ‘every fucker knew what was going on, including Gary (coz he’d just been talking about how ‘great’ Gary was), so get over it. No one gives a fuck. T was just doing what she wanted to do and I respect anyone’s right to do what the fuck they want. Including you’. He said Gary had ‘assured’ him that he knew nothing about anything. Then he goes on about he’s coming to the party this Saturday and how he only ever ‘went to parties because Terry wanted it’. Sheesh! So WTF is he doing saying he hates all the dance crowd and parties and then plans to come to a party? The geezer is fucking crazy mate and is like some fucking terrier who won’t let go of a dead rabbit. He contradicts himself all the time sometimes in the same bloody sentence. Anyway, he was aggressive, rude and dismissive and I’ve had it with that fucker - for a bit.

This weekend should hopefully be better for me as there’s loads on and I’m fucking going to go to all of it. It all starts tonight with Warren and Si Wells’ birthday meal at Clyde’s Mexican place. Forgot the name. They’ve booked the whole restaurant and are probably going to give it the full tequila vibe. I hope! Saturday is Martin Ramsden’s birthday bash down Graveney Marshes which me and S are doing a tvc/s**s thing – the first of the year. Well, its tVC’s marquee, tVC’s rig and tVC’s DJ’s but it’s nice for S to get the S***dance name out again for an airing and him and J are going to do a little café for everyone. Which will be nice. Jane Fitz and Sketchy Beats are coming down from London and the whole lot of us, including Warren and Mark Croucher and Subway Sounds are going to play as well. I’ve renamed everyone ‘The Whitstable All Stars’ which is quite appropriate and funny to boot.

Two things to do before the Graveney Party; one visit Katrina. It’s her leaving party in Herne Bay before she moves to Whitstable. I’ve got her a card and a little present and hope to arrange to see her at the other party later. I was mentioning my interest in Kat to MDM down the Continental and he goes to me; ‘yeah, she’s well after me that one!’ ‘How do you know’, I ask? ‘I can just tell’ he says. What a fucker. The other, Two; go to see Ben's Ego, Justin's band are playing at the Red Lion in Baddlesmere so would like to get over there before the big party too. Don’t want to get to the big party before 2am anyway. It’s too manic at parties before that for me. Sunday it’s an ‘afternoon gathering round Nick Dent’s’ so that’ll be nice for a bit of a comedown, I mean chill out. It’s also Karen from the Smack’s birthday and I’ve been invited to the Smack for her celebs. Which is nice. Monday is Whitstable Castle sesh with Cathy and all that lot doing their usual sitting on the grass in the sunshine vibe. Nice.

13 July 2009

2009 Pt 2- Jumpers for goalposts

Having been filled with an overwhelming desire for some time to play music on the beach and to watch people with sand between their toes move their hands in a rhythmic fashion I was not surprised to remember that I had been invited by the ever gorgeous S the previous week to do just that. How fortuitous. Also, not withstanding the fact that I have been listening to a talking book of 'Pride and Prejudice' all week on the way to work and find that it is somewhat affecting my parlance and everyday dealing with the world.


Hark me, and apologies not withstanding at my arrogant display of what some would consider an unusual task, but I’ve played music of the beach, in the sunshine, in the rain, for quite some considerable time, but to have my concentration interrupted by a Red Devil display team flying towards the beach, really low, really loud, puffing billows of red, white and blue smoke out into a fan, was, take it from me, somewhat of an unusual experience. My first thought was “the sound system isn’t loud enough” then “where’s my beer?”. No, I’m joking of course. It was “ooohmygawd! What dafuckwassthat??”.

Or, in English; I went down Margate to play some tunes on the beach.
S***dance Sound System, for it was they, had such a exquisite set up. Palm Bay curves in such a pleasing line to the eye that upon visitation of my attention I immediately busrt into tears of joy at the overwhelming power of nature to create such a vista. Nestled at the apex of the curve was an aluminium structure housing the wheels of steel and the givers of aural pleasure. Flanked by four palm trees and a deck chair I burst out with laughter at the playful ironic juxtaposition of sand, sea, sky, palm trees, deck chair and a fuck off massive sound system. Things just seemed soo right. So precise. Oh, and to be greeted like a long lost brother by the beautiful subs people, and to receive so much warmth and love and smiles I cried again on top the crying and ironic laughter I done did earlier. I did feel an overwhelming surge of loss as I realised how much I loved them and had missed their energy. To tap into this seam again was all I had ever wanted from the day. To feel is all I ever need. “Hello”, I said, hugging DP, J &S, G &MJ. I am after all, English, and still in the world of Pride and Prejudice (unabridged), and an Englishmen would never display feelings openly. People might think you are human. It’s the internal world that never leaks except through the eyebrows.

So, the lovely Clare and I drove down, Dopey Jake on the car stereo. The sunshine blazed and we gazed in each others eyes and oh how we laughed; the carefree laugh of lovers everywhere who are driving towards the beach; towards the sea. Towards the deep, blue sea.

Man, Margate was on total shutdown; jams from 5 miles out. The place crawling with orange hi-viz jackets, clipboards, barriers and traffic cones. Pavements thronged with people all heading one way. Clare goes; “Let’s ask that man in the orange hi-viz?” So began, ‘the blag’ to get the car down to the sea front and after much talking, driving, cajoling and of course blatant lying we finally got let through a barrier and parked up right next to the beach. A perfect example of what we call ‘TV parking’. The Gods of the blag shined brightly down on us and all them years of talking our way into clubs through intransigent door supervisors (don’t cha just love ‘em?) finally paid off in spades.

A Lancaster Bomber flanked by 2 Spitfires flew overhead. “Ah”, says Simon as he puts a champagne flute of sparkling wine into my hand. “Stirs the soul a sight like that. I always loved the Battle of Britain. Them Airfix models when we were kids? Loved ‘em”. So we did. So we did. We both nod as the roar of the planes drowns out our voices.

Those were the days. Jumpers for goalposts.

12 July 2009

Da Masions Ees No More - Sat July 1st 2000

Living in a spacious if somewhat dowdy 30's style flat in a quaintly trendy seaside town for the past 6 years has produced many a happy memory. And many a mansions nightmare. Fortunately saying goodbye to an old parqueed friend is one of the happy ones.

Ems and BK smile and smoke tabs.

And so it came to pass that a gargantuan gaggle of house meisters descended en masse to partake of the parquee and dance and talk and drink themselves stupider. To celebrate another weekend, another saturday another this another that. All variations on a theme, tried, tested, re-organised and replayed, fine tuned and mercilessly bludgeoned - depending on your state of mind.

DJ Rosie and the new love in her life A.

Chris and Terry, Gary, Shelly, Zoe, John, Shaun, Penny, Mike, Tracey, Big Kev, Macca, Laurie, Matt, Toffo, Rosie and even CJ Stone himself; all our favourite people and more provided a full house who, bless their cotton socks, partied away till the environmental health "party poop" squad turned up in the morning with an abatement notice. "We suggest you read it," they suggested. We read it. They said; "we're off to get a Magistrates warrant". We carried on partying albeit at a lower volume. It was enough to scare everyone away who was left. We'd "had a good innings" as the police and EH are wont to say. And we had.

The photo is a little deceiving as the room was virtually pitch black apart from the odd flash from the camera.

Highlights and lowlights include a very very very very very pissed up and non compis mentis Val who, after

Dover posse crack on their 5th crate of cider

The toilet walls festooned with old tVC posters and flyers.

Er, the old etc 40 degree right from above.

Ah, memories of reading the same poster every fucking time you went to the toilet linger longer than you ever dreamed possible.

Onece more unto the breach dear friends. Oh, look there's one I've never seen before. No, it's not. Damn, read it again.

Oh, piss off.

Party in fullish swing.

It is now. Note fallen backdrop.

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