(no subject)

Yesterday, in a train of thought probably owing something to Morrissey's 'The First of the Gang to Die', I was musing over which of my friends would be first to check out.
Come in today to a mail from a friend I've not heard from in ages, telling me that a mutual friend from whom I've also not heard in ages died a week ago.
He was a bit older than me, so it's not quite got the immanence I expected, but still, this is the first time I've lost a friend. Well, a human one, anyway.
The other, cheerier entry I meant to write, about weekends and gin and pretty girls, will be along later, because apart from anything else I'll need to write myself up again.

We can still beat them for ever and ever

On Saturday afternoon, watching a new Mini take a corner in Bloomsbury slightly too fast, I had an epiphany*. I realised that this is still Swinging London, albeit rebooted in a new continuity. We didn't miss the golden age. Everyone thinks they did, and everyone in turn is envied by a successive generation. But here, now, this is where it's at. Not all the time, perhaps, but there never was a 24/7 earthly paradise. Even the Bright Young Things had to visit tiresome aunts occasionally, or have a quiet night off, or go to the loo.

On a related note, I had already come to the conclusion that Spaced, Black Books and 15 Storeys High represent Tufnell Park, Bloomsbury and Kennington within the same London. That there should be two Bill Baileys therein posed no problem; many of my friends have a doppelganger somewhere in the city. So do I, apparently. But after last night's episode of 15 Storeys High I'm wondering if any city could contain three Bill Baileys.

Friday night took me to a party in the lovely flat of drummygirl, the first party I've ever attended in a mews. I seemed to be the only person impressed with this. I kept forgetting that the somewhat knockabout strain of humour common among my friends is not really suitable for use with people you've only just met. I don't think anyone objected too much, but given I'm not sure quite how I got the bruise on the side of my face, or why I ended up in Tally Ho Corner, or which Tally Ho Corner it even was, perhaps I shouldn't be too complacent. Still, if anyone's ever at a loose end around dawn, riding buses through the centre of an empty London as the sun rises is not an experience I regret.

Saturday was Pippas' Princess Party, where I was one of the few people present not wearing a pretty pink party dress. So, altruistically, I was loaned two pretty pink party dresses, simultaneously. And then went to the off license, where I was used as a stalking horse for Crime. A special mention must go to the World's Slowest Homophobes who were stood right outside said shop, but didn't shout anything until a full minute after I'd passed by them. Bless. I also initiated drawing on the Party Wall with one of the very few things I can draw, namely a yak. This day was brought to you in association with Gin.

On Sunday I met the easily-singed Miss Raichu for the first UK screening of Thunderbirds. Lady Penelope and Ben Kingsley's Hood are both excellent, but on the whole there was too much teen adventure and not enough of the actual International Rescue boys themselves. Particularly when John Tracy was astoundingly gay and played by someone called Lex Shrapnel. We then returned to the wreckage of the party so that Raichu could meet Pippa's new unicorn and thechild could puzzle us with her unique take on gender issues.

*This may sound like a strange time to have an epiphany but my Dad had one about the structure of the universe from looking at an egg carton.