Self’s desert island, all-time, top five most memorable wake-ups, in chronological order are as follows:
- Tearlessly birthing from self’s mother with medically undiagnosed addiction to alcohol and cigarettes and Ryan Reynolds films, quilted in chicken batter
- Stirring in top tier of single bunk bed seamlessly continuing complex conversation with self’s aunt (in bottom tier of single bunk bed) from previous evening
- Entering consciousness on never-but-almost flatmate Simon’s couch with half of face covered in blood following drink spiking fiasco in Soho dungeon
- Rising with slight hangover to ex-girlfriend’s kisses on self’s back in rare moment when self felt truly loved without baggage of rival boyfriends
- Flailing aimlessly on comfortable couch in Haggerston basement flat at 9am next to young-looking-thirty-something damsel following near-religious Hyde Park music centric communion with ex-flatmate Tom and ex-flatmate Tom’s girlfriend Georgia and probably-never-flatmate Bruce Springsteen
Rapidly concoct scheme to ransack Haggerston basement flat and escape laden with leftover tequila and beers to fluster further self’s hungry heart. Realise with equal rapidity that Haggerston basement flat dry of leftover tequila and beers save suspicious looking half filled half-pint glass. Notice lemonade on kitchen counter. Create awful tequila-based cocktail with havoc to consequences learnt from experience detailed in point three of self’s desert island, all time, top five most memorable wake-ups (above). Ponder other on-the-fly cocktail creations whilst sipping on awful tequila-based cocktail and savouring first cigarette of day outside front door of Haggerston basement flat in light of day.
Self’s desert island, all time, top five most memorable shake-ups, in chronological order are as follows:
- Inventing ‘Fizzy Ribe’ (Ribena based virgin cocktail) on staircase of self’s first abode
- Pouring ouzo on top of Bailey’s before self knew what ouzo or Bailey’s actually were at self’s first alcohol-orientated house party before vomiting milk over hands of lactose-intolerant ex-girlfriend
- Believing self was ingenious by creating ‘Fucked Up Motherfucker 7’ (washing up liquid, vodka, WKD, Lambrini, lemonade: built [not wet/dry shaken] in pint glass) in old school friend Jessica’s kitchen around time of self’s sixteenth birthday following viewing of Denzel Washington torture porn documentary Training Day resulting in self calling everyone at party: ‘Mah Nigger’
- Bursting cod liver oil capsule into glass filled with white wine and raspberry flavoured cough-syrup with ex-almost-girlfriend Sally in self’s second abode
- Mixing 8.5% dry cider with four 25ml shots of vodka after indulging in near-gruesome class A drug celebration with never-actual-flatmate-but-often-present-on-flatmate-Tom’s-floor friend Joe, resulting in plastic jar of multi-flavoured jellybeans shattering beneath self’s rear in self’s fourth abode before experiencing possibly-hallucinated blizzard on journey to old workplace
Self obviously natural mixologist based on points one, two, and five (above, below) but self fretfully aware that self has nil current girlfriends to show off cocktail skills to. Self ignores painful stomach stirrings and inalienable cow farm flavoured odour emitting from self’s jeans after three hour Bruce Springsteen gig and return inside Haggerston basement flat shackled and drawn to attempt roll of dice morning courtship ritual with young-looking-thirty-something damsel with hope of getting certain amount of human touch, describing what love can do when you’re alone, leading perhaps with line, ‘I wanna marry you.’
Courtship ritual unsuccessful as self one step up from being point blank insidiously morning-drunk and zoo aromatic, and target wearing expression that says ‘you can look but you better not touch’. Self begins hunt for new-flatmate Frankie. New flatmate Frankie moved into self’s sixth abode whilst self was racing in street to begin writhing in ecstasy in safari park scented Hyde Park mud. Search for new flatmate Frankie unsuccessful due in part to search perimeter limited by self’s haziness to couch self sitting on and hiding places within view of couch.
Self aborts search and courtship ritual in favour of wiping couch dust off face using Haggerston basement flat bathroom. Whilst staring at self in bathroom mirror, self can’t resist pondering…
…self’s desert island, all time, top five most memorable make-ups, in chronological order:
- Staring down open top of make-up girl for self’s first play at university whilst make-up girl leant over self to apply eye-liner to self
- Peeking down large-necked T-shirt of make-up girl for self’s second play at university whilst make-up girl leant over self to apply foundation to self
- Gazing openly at swinging bosoms barely contained by near-transparent vest of make-up girl for self’s third play at university whilst make-up girl leant over self to apply lipstick to self
- Ignoring gap in self’s mother’s shirt whilst self’s mother leant over self to apply eye shadow to self as part of self’s costume for ex-girlfriend’s Halloween party
- Glimpsing occasionally at cleavage of make-up girl for self’s final play at university whilst make-up girl leant over self to apply mascara to self
Self leaves bathroom and bumps into ex-flatmate Tom. Ex-flatmate Tom’s facial area unduly lacking in feature-knotting shame given ex-flatmate Tom’s activities at party night before. Self wants to suggest to ex-flatmate Tom using iPhone to listen with shame-based sense of irony to track one side one of Dusty Springfield’s ‘Dusty in Memphis’. But ex-flatmate Tom 100% responsible for purchase of Bruce Springsteen tickets so self instead suggests breakfast. Breakfast bandwagon fast filled with recovering party hosts/guests, making self feel like local hero, and wagon bounds through Haggerston passed girls in their summer clothes to nearby McDonalds wherein party hosts/guests purchase meals and self purchases Happy Meal using easy money. Self’s Happy Meal toy grossly disappointing to extent that self feels McDonald’s employee who bagged self’s Happy Meal lacking decency to extent rivalled only by person responsible for pulling plug on Bruce Springsteen concert.
Party hosts return to Haggerston flat and party guests (ex-flatmate Tom, ex-flatmate Tom’s girlfriend Georgia, and self) direct wagon towards promised land of Hackney. Effects of tequila cocktail and Happy Meal disappointment cause self to enter agitated state: self sees darkness on edge of town whilst skyline above recently painted Hackney flat complexes resembles artwork by William Blake. Agitation dissipates and reliable numbness returns as self allows self wandering consideration of…
…self’s desert island, all time, top five most memorable William Blake-ups, in chronological order:
- Composing William Blake tribute poem during car journey with self’s father (Little lamb, little lamb / Lonely on the hill / Are you feeling happy? / Or are you feeling ill? / You smile in the sunlight / You shiver in the breeze / What was that little lamb? / O God, a sneeze!)
- Seeing three-act Mackenzie Crook play Jerusalem at Apollo Theatre in 2010
- Reciting William Blake tribute poem as part of between-act banter at one-night-only talent show that self regrettably presented
- Seeing three-act Mackenzie Crook play Jerusalem at Apollo Theatre in 2012
- Finding reason, however tangental, to include William Blake tribute poem in blog entry
Self comes to in front of projected image of John Q-zack’s face with hair that seems combed by rake with self’s head suffering feelings of wrecking ball collision. Self’s surroundings seem to resemble flat in Hackney area rented by ex-flatmate Tom and ex-flatmate Tom’s girlfriend Georgia. Appearance of Georgia beneath self’s head and presence of Tom on top of self confirm suspicion.
Self appears to be watching John Q-zack musical comedy High Fidelity as fifty-seven channels and nothin’ on. Readers of blog likely familiar with storyline of Stephen Frears film as self has watched Stephen Frears film with majority of friend readers of blog back in glory days when self and reader friends were growin’ up.
John Q-zack, like self, unlucky in love. John Q-zack unlucky in love because John Q-zack, like self, bastard, and because John Q-zack combs hair not with hairbrush but with rake. John Q-zack in process of being broken up with by woman with career and weird accent. John Q-zack decides to list his desert island, all time, top five most memorable break-ups, in chronological order. (Self considers activity thrillingly novel but ultimately self-destructive way to spend time.) Self concludes that each break-up result not so much of John Q-zack being bastard, but because of John Q-zack’s desert island, all time, top five most memorable rake-ups, in chronological order:
- Alison Ashmore – John Q-zack’s hair combed with rake
- Penny Hardwick – John Q-zack’s hair combed with rake (N.B. Q-zack’s hair temporarily hidden by hood, hair presumed nevertheless rakey)
- Jackie Alden – John Q-zack’s hair combed with rake
- Charlie Nicholson – John Q-zack’s hair combed with rake
- Sarah Kendrew – John Q-zack’s hair combed with rake
Self listens to rather than watches majority of film as self’s vision blinded by light and reduced to monotone soft focus. Most of film, like July in London, flooded by rain, reflecting Q-zack’s deteriorating mood. Self’s own mood mirrors Q-zack’s when Q-zack notes that his favourite book is Johnny Cash’s autobiography Cash by Johnny Cash. Self reminded of experience reading Johnny Cash’s autobiography Cash by Johnny Cash which made self sad as book written by ageing icon who’s sold soul to Jesus in exchange for ulcers on feet; who writes with quiet exhaustion and refuses to allow reader to think that icon ever actually enjoyed hey-day of drugs, guitars and alcohol.
Q-zack’s mood fails to improve even when vaguely hot dread-lock wearing singer has sex with him. Q-zack only complains when new-but-used-to-be-old girlfriend creates record label for Q-zack. (Self finds mood reasonable as band that label launching sound awful.) After whole film, only thing that manages to make Q-zack smile is singing performance by fattest-of-his-career Jack Black. Q-zack promises film audience that he’s turning away from instances of sly infidelity to be good boyfriend.
Self removes self from self shaped imprint on couch and decides to leave behind high of being spirit in night wearing brilliant disguise (sunglasses) and dancing in dark and High Fidelity and return to real world.
Like cautious man, self uses map application on mobile communication device to locate self’s city of ruins: Stratford Jungleland. Self doesn’t own pink Cadillac, so self gets downbound train through tunnel of love to self’s not-so-lucky town. Self gets off, out in street, and heads towards self’s father’s house (technically), feeling like death in self’s hometown (self has seen better days), walking on streets of fire rather than streets of Philadelphia, passed stolen car needing spare parts, around men working on highway on wreck on highway, along backstreets of badlands, not so much land of hope and dreams as self’s hard land, before turning through secret garden and seeing self’s mini mansion on hill.
Self enters flat feeling tougher than rest as self clutching bag of beer from Queen of supermarket at shop open all night (though self won’t make that far as self not magic – it’s hard to be saint in city) with certainty that self will be last to die. Self locates new-flatmate Frankie hiding in flat. Self impressed as flat last place self thought of looking. Self goes to room to begin working on dream, before self notices that self pulled plug on laptop before leaving flat last so laptop without battery power.
Self’s desert island, all time, top five most memorable oh-for-fuck’s-sake ups, in chronological order are as follows…