Short but sweet

Woke around midday. The Valiums and beers from the night before, plus a gruelling championship manager session had left me feeling a bit zoned out.
Rolled a joint, watched BBC News 24. Another Saturday presented itself to me, wide open. Decided some culture was in order, and by 1500hrs I was standing outside my flat, debating where to go. Mid-November is still sunny but colder. I started walking. My immediate options where to go to Surrey and watch someone’s bonfire that, according to sources, was built precariously close to a house. I was tempted to go just in the vague hope that I would witness a house catch fire. Even debated buying some paraffin just to speed proceedings along. Headed down City Road towards Shoreditch. Still uncertain as to what cultural activity I was going to engage in, I wandered aimlessly. Aimlessly is probably a bit of a lie. I hovered around the Shoreditch / Liverpool Street / Brick Lane area, trying to contact my skunk dealer. As he wasn’t picking up I ventured further into the City, which was surprisingly busy for a Saturday afternoon.
I love autumn. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes! Bowie was a genius.
Watch out you rock and rollers!
It was getting dark but the atmosphere was crisp and clear. The City is a beautiful place you if allow yourself time to wander and observe. The morning joint had settled to the stage where my mind was blank and full of ideas at the same time. Took some Valiums, tried my supplier again. No luck. Went to Old Street, debating to go back home (having at this stage given up on the ‘cultural’ plan). The Reverend called, wondering what was happening. I pressed him for skunk, but his newly started operation was going through some teething problems. He said he’d come up to the Big Laundry later that evening. Unperturbed by my inability to buy cannabis, I tried NH, an old colleague from my market research days who, apart from being a sound Tower Hamlet’s gangster with more intelligence than any of his crowd, was also the ultimate middle man. Three mobiles, three word sentences, plenty of shady friends. Should I ever want to buy a gun he would be the man. Sadly he too was looking punk, but casually asked if I was after sometime else. The question pertained to cocaine. Despite the fact my evening’s plans where far from organised, I told him I’d get back to him in a few hours. I reminded him of some prescription pills I had lying around which he had shown an interest in buying, and he was still game but tried to haggle the price. This of course wasn’t unexpected, so I deliberately set the original price high. He said he’d get back to me and our conversation was over. Still standing at Old Street roundabout, I conceded defeat and headed home. As I neared Angel I got call from Kaptain Kaos himself. Seems The Lord, the Lord’s Sister and the Kaptain had been to a vine tasting session at Vinopolis on the South Bank, and were now drinking in pub near London Bridge. Slightly drunk already, they couldn’t make up their minds as to whether they would go to the bonfire / house fire, stay in London until last trains and drink or come to mine to play poker. Kaptain Kaos being his usual vague self, we decided to leave any decisions until later. Once home I had another Valium, and gave my punk friend another call. Still not picking up.
I was about to resign myself to watching England vs. Argentina, take some clonazepam and just spend the evening staring vacantly at whatever the television would have to offer when The Reverend called. He was on his way to London, but he was going to head to my place, as he refused to go to London Bridge. He didn’t give any reason for this geographical discrimination, so I told him to come to mine. Seconds later the Kaptain called, still vague as fuck. He passed me over to The Lord, who insisted that I come meet them in London Bridge for drinking.
Assured that at least something would happen, I called NH and ordered a gram. He asked me if I had had any success with the green and that surprised me. He is usually always well stocked.
Took another Valium and headed toward the tube. NH lives in Tower Hamlets, south of Aldgate East. I walked the last bit from the tube and meet him outside his flat. Once in his room, he gave me the wrap, doing the standard coke dealer quip – “this is pretty strong”. I cut up a chunky line whilst he began deliberating about his friends doing half-ounces of coke every week. He himself had decided to ‘stop the bali’ as he put it. Seems his business partners had become a bit too fond of the powder and wasted all their investments on a regular basis to complete strangers at parties. NH gave an example where at a house party his associate had invited loads of random people and where cutting up 30 lines at a time for the benefit of the party. I wish I had that kind of dough (or got invited to those parties…). Had another cigarette, talked some business and rubbish and then I made my goodbyes. The Kapain called me asking where the fuck I was. I lied and told him was crossing Tower Bridge when in actual fact I had barely left NH’s flat. The coke was good, the line was sufficiently large and I walked like a demon towards London Bridge. The view from the bridge was amazing. London is the greatest and grimmest city in the world.

Finally reached London Bridge, and met the Lord. The coke was still buzzing through my system and I was sweating like a pig. We joined The Kaptain and the Lord’s sister at the George. Greetings done with I went to the bar and ordered a pint and two shots of tequila. Downed one, and took the other and the pint back outside.
The Lord and co were all fairly drunk, so I was forced to catch up. The coke obviously hindered this process somewhat in terms of getting drunk. I offered some to the Kaptain and the Lord, who both ‘obliged’.
At this stage the Reverend called the Kaptain, stressing him out. The Kaptain needed a lift back home and as such was somewhat dependent on the movements of his holiness. The Reverend had spent the last three hours sitting outside Gutshot, playing poker on his laptop in his car (presumably via the Gutshot WiFi). The group split up and Rash and myself headed towards Angel. We had a sneaky line at my flat and started walking down towards Clerkenwell. Inside the Gutshot we signed up for the £25 cash game, had a drink and chilled out. Now contrary perhaps to popular myth, cocaine does not enhance your poker playing. Ten minutes into the game and the bar shut. The coke buzz was still present but the need for a drink distracted me a lot. The Kaptain lost his £25 in the first ten minutes of play. Despite my cautious play, I felt I would keep making bad moves because I couldn’t concentrate. The Reverend, who been playing at another table, suddenly wanted to leave. The Kaptain and I left shortly after. We headed back to my place and had a joint. Managed to persuade the Reverend to leave me some skunk, which he kindly did. They left and I was alone in my flat, high on coke with no alcohol and one spliff’s worth of draw. Took a Rivotril and watched Danish comedy programmes until I passed out.
Woke up this morning around ten. Went for walk, has some lunch, and came back. Tried to convince SPW to shoot over and play some Champ Manager, but he declined.
Finished off the coke and thought about what the Professor might be up in Morocco.
Sundays suck. At some stage today I am forced to fix my bathroom, seeing as it has been leaking to my downstairs neighbour. It will have to wait. Gonna enjoy the coke buzz while it lasts, call my punk friend and wind down. Or buy some more coke.
I wish I were loaded.