Geek Attack!

July 22, 2008

Good Morning Faithful Readers – and a special good morning to my newest reader, Rachel! Hi Rach!


I have a new pattern – quick, someone get me a Wiffle Bat! – I can’t bloody sleep. Last night was a disaster; I kept waking up throughout the night, eventually giving up actually trying to get back to sleep around 5.30am. Strangely, I’m not tired in the slightest. I can only hope that lasts through the day.


Today, I am mostly pissed off at London cinemas. After trying (and, sadly failing) to book tickets to see the new Batman movie at the IMAX in Southbank here in London, I thought I’d have a quick flick around to see what other cinemas were showing it. I managed to find one suitable – the Leicester Square Odeon. The price? An extortionate £38. I swear to all that is holy – the people that run these cinemas are on crack. Crack, I tell you!


But anyway, let’s rewind to yesterday.


The group seemingly emerged from a weekend of masterpieces and frivolity in fairly decent shape, and it seems as though people are out in the real world fending for themselves pretty well. It will be interesting to see everyone on the 29th – a date I am rather looking forward to – to see and hear first hand how people are getting on, and indeed if they’ve changed since Florence House.


I was lucky with my masterpieces. My parents were evidently waiting for the ice to break in our relationships, and in the course of a single conversation, we did the sort of repair work twenty years of therapy wouldn’t have achieved. However, some people have not been so lucky, and it is heartbreaking to hear. I hope beyond all hopes that they remember one of the greatest things we have learned, something which is central to all we have learned in fact, which is this: it is not about you. Offering unconditional love is one of the most powerful things a person can do. You should be proud of yourselves, all of you, for being so in touch with yourself that you can sit down and tell someone something so wonderful. Whether they take it, throw it back in your face, or just look like they’ve fallen into a waking coma; that’s their own patterns. That’s them.


Remember, it has nothing to do with you.


Until yesterday, I was fairly certain that I’d calmed down about Hoffman. Though I am ridiculously happy, probably approaching annoyingly bright and breezy, and really rather pleased with myself, I thought that the initial euphoria had gone, and certainly felt myself settling into the more mechanical aspects of my every day life.


But then, I met Rachel.


Rachel and I have been friends for what must be approaching 10 years. (Rachel, feel free to add a comment at the end of the blog if I’m wrong) We originally met when I worked with her in a Virgin Megastore, and I fancied the pants off of her. Over time, we became friends, and that all sort of faded away, and, over the years, that friendship has remained – mostly, thanks to coffee and/or Facebook.


Rachel had contacted me recently, and we agreed to meet for coffee (tea for me) after work last night, for one of our usual chats, and so she could have my copy of ‘Catcher In The Rye’, the first book I had read cover-to-cover in about 20 years.


We met in London’s wonderful Trafalgar Square, and through the course of conversation, Rachel and I reconnected in a wonderful way. Apparently, I’ve changed significantly, which is wonderful to hear. I mean, I’m not looking for validation, but it’s always nice to hear.


After a sparkling water for me and an orange juice for her at Pret A Manger, we decided to head to HMV so I could buy some headphones (I had left mine in the car, and wanted to do a check in on the tube) and so she could buy some birthday presents.


It was a wonderful, sunny London evening. The great historical buildings towered over us, offering us shade from the sunshine. Businessmen carrying briefcases and tourists crowded London’s famous streets as one of the great cities in the world began to wind down for the day.


‘Hey, let’s take a short cut through Leicester Square,’ I said.

‘Okay,’ Rachel replied.


And then, this:


We managed to walk right into the middle of the European premiere of the new Batman movie.


After wrestling our way through the hoards of curious tourists and single middle aged men, we made our way to HMV (Where I bought myself a couple of movies, and a pair of headphones in the most ridiculous colour I could find) before parting for the evening. In times past, it would have been months, maybe a year before I saw Rachel again. In the spirit of the new me, we’re going to do the same thing – perhaps minus the crushing crowds of people – next Monday.


Instead of going home, I decided to take a walk. It really was a lovely evening, and I had an overwhelming feeling of not wanting to go home yet. A short walk (or not that short) down Regent’s Street and Oxford Street later, and I finally arrived at Tottenham Court Road station with a new shirt and, finally, a copy of ‘Affluenza’, which will have to replace ‘1984’ as my current reading.


Most significantly, I did the entire walk without the need for noise. Sure, London is full of noise, but it used to be that I’d plug in my iPod the moment I was alone. However, last night, all I could hear was the wind. It really was a rather exquisite collection of moments.


By the time I got home, I barely had enough time to throw a bowl of Sultana Bran down my throat before it was time for my regularly-interrupted sleep.


Well, that’s it for today, bloggers. I am trying to think of a decent activity to do after work today, so if you’ve got any ideas, please comment, and I’ll gladly take them on board.


Oh, and finally, an apology to my girlfriend. Yesterday (though its now deleted) I perhaps didn’t articulate myself as best I could – I did say at the beginning I was tired – and may have relayed a conversation I had with her in a way that made her sound like a cold, heartless bitch, frankly. If anyone read this, I want to assure you that she is anything but – in fact, she is cuter and more warm hearted than the offspring of Bambi and a teeny tiny rabbit. In metaphorical terms, of course. Not biologically. That’d be disgusting.


Until next time blog fans…


Closed Box




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