30 November 2001
Tuesday: Stumbled into an old enemy. Stringy
hair streaming from bobble hat. Wizened face winking. Lips rubbering round
flat northern gargle. 'IIIIIYYYYAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!' Shit. We stood by the
homeless person sitting outside the Star Garage on Shoreditch High Street,
just opposite the Rainbow Sports Bar - the scuzziest place within a three-minute
walk of Amp's house - and talked about 'meeeooooowwwwsic'. He opened his
bag to show us the records he had bought at Smallfish, and a fly flew
out! Ewwwwwwww!!!!! Amp can't believe it used to fancy him. Damn its eyes!!!!!!
Wednesday: Club Surplus, Public Life, Spitalfields. Piled new makup on
top of old and got there for midnight, just missing the avant-jazz Japanese
experimental band, thank fuck. Public Life used to be a toilet, allowing
some web designer we got talking to to announce 'I remember when this
were all toilet round here', and thinking he was talking about Shoreditch,
we replied 'think you'll find it still is'. You twat, Amp.
The place was lousy with German boys. Amp's favourite German boy was the
one with the massive head. Not all the German boys have the dorky black
glasses, but most of them do, and our favourite one does, so spent a while
talking to him about shoe-shopping and dog-eating in Shanghai whilst drinking
cheap beer and trying desperately to keep our eyes off his Marlboro Reds.
Prob'ly we were only using him to get closer to the cute cylinders. No
jawache, no fluids dribbling across your face, and if you do it right
you don't even disturb your lipstick. S'no choice really, is it.
Thursday: Wander Shoreditch like a Chinese-silk-jacketed vagrant, searching
desperately for a free drink or at least a guestlist with our name on
it, hawking misery into gutters, rooting round in our pockets and discovering
only 7 of your English pence, three Dutch guilders and a lump of hash
too small to be of use to anybody - about the size of our ex-boyfriend's
cock, in fact - sobbing in empty garages as we lock up our shiny black
German bike, the last, and soon-to-be-pawned, modicum of our respectability.
Luckily we are on the list for the Kitty-yo night @ 93 Feet East, where
Maximilian Hecker is cute and Couch are boring and Frances' girl friend
Morag flirts with Amp because of its green chiffon transparant top, leading
official Amp boyfriend to add lesbian-fear to his lexicon of insecurities.
Friday: Amp's pits stink, its ears ring, and its tummy rumbles. Must get
some breakfast. Must apply for 20 jobs, but writes nonsense instead. Wants
to write its nonsense in a speedy-hot streak of brilliance. Instead it
goes plod, plod, plod. Oh, later, Cafe Kick Shoreditch High St table football
with ex-models turned pop-video directors with allegedly huge third legs,
but Amp didn't get to see leg so what does it care. Not inconsiderable
breasts - not Amp's, we might add - pulled from tops and not inconsiderable
nipples sucked - by said nipples' owner - in full view of bar. Kingsland
Road Thai noodles blown off in favour of physical and emotional collapse
and fight with b/f in which he accuses Amp of being upset at not having
had chance to experience the third legs of various male models in the
years Amp has been with him. Amp laughs a hollow laugh.
Saturday: Boring. Sunday: Boring. Weekends are for moribund office-bound
wankers, and we are wild and free, though open to offers.
Monday: Stockpot, then Ghost World@ Wardour St Odeon, then Coach and Horses
on Greek Street where stared at by menz on stools, despite being with
b/f. Is it the top again? Amp realises it should have washed top rather
than just spraying it with Anna Sui eau de toilette, as combo of semi-visible
undies plus intoxicating Amp pheremones clearly too much for the poor
Tuesday: Editorial meeting at World offices on Strand. Explain theories
on Jamie Oliver's over-large tongue - think cunnilingus, laydeez - and
its respective effects on male and female psyche. Greeted with 'are-you-crazy'
stares from the writerly menz who then go on to discuss ideas for 'If
Sperm Was A Drink'. Amp, nearly retching at thought of Yop spunk, juice-box
spunk, spunk delivered daily in milk-bottles, declares menz should at
least taste sperm before making heartless jokes about it. Amp feels it
is deeply insensitive for bunch of straight males to make jokes from the
misfortunes of others. Gargle then giggle, y'getme?
After meeting started drinking at 5pm, then cocktails in Freuds - Amp
fuckin' loves Freuds - with writerly menz and Al and beautiful record
company press officers Jodi and Janine. By eleven we have slimmed to hardcore
of Amp, Al and lone writerly menz Pimpdaddy. Off to Soho and Bar Solona,
snorting coke off the table in booth, dancing to Ricky Martin, meeting
kerayzzee dude and chick Rina and Dean who were stripper and 'Director,
Enterprise Online Channel, e-Enablement Team' for Cable and Wireless respectively,
getting offered pole dancing lessons and copywriting job, well sorta:
'No! You can't do a line of coke offa my clit! Gimme a JOB!' Our heads
are a lousy mess of booze and drugs and we are kicked out at 3am and we
are taken by mad homeless man called Jimmy to late-nite drinking dive
in Soho which costs five quid to get into and four quid for a beer, which
we suckle like mother's milk. Amp gets talking to scary man who teaches
Amp exactly what to do if it gets caught by police with a gram of coke
and 2 e's stuffed down its bra, not that that would ever happen right;
but then scaryman wants to be Amp's boyfriend for the rest of the night
so Amp gets Pimpdaddy to be its boyfriend instead, only without like tongues
or sex or nuffin, so Pimpdaddy tells Amp to tidy up, has a jealous fit,
designs a few leaflets for the Open University, then yells at it to get
off the internet and go to sleep. More crazy Australians buy Amp and Al
and Pimpdaddy more beer. These are officially The Best Australians In
The World Ever after Rina and Dean. Then it is 6.30 and we go to the 24-hour
Chinese restaurant that plays housemusic despite Pimpdaddy's protestations
that it does not exist. More beer is drunk, more coke is inhaled but it
all stops working KA-BOOM! just like that. Tube it at 9am with Al (she
goes off to school still drunk) amongst wide-eyed Central Liners, stinking,
sleeping, suddenly self-loathing. Shiver on sofa under blanket. Amp's
real boyfriend points at it and laughs. And if you think that is the last
time Amp is going out in the world ever you'd be right.
big up Pimpdaddy, Alan
Delve, Janine, Scottish Jimmy, Rina and lipstick-mouthed Dean. Amp
apologises for blatantly goading Pimpdaddy into drinks purchases and drug
donations, and will repay Pimpdaddy as soon as it possibly can which will
be very soon now because it really is going to get a proper job any day
now... you saw it looking at 3am, didn't you - that's dedication...
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