The past two weekends I have been journeying up to London to see Jamie, Ed, Ben and, last Saturday, Jon. On Sunday 9th August, Ed and Jamie, with their respective halves Laura and Keiko, had a barbecue party on their spacious balcony. Unlike most barbecues, this food was well-cooked throughout, overseen by Ed’s eagle eye.
This was my first time in their new abode, almost a stone’s throw away from the old one they used to share with Jon, before Arabia became his new land. I did like their old place, but this had a wonderful mezzanine kitchen with the living room inhabiting literally a higher plane. From the balcony, one can see acres and acres of green tree canopy, with Alexandra Gardens on the near horizon.
It was billed as Keiko’s deportation party as her visa was soon to expire and she would have to return to Tokyo before she could be in Britain again. It was very pleasant socialising in this relaxed atmosphere.
As the night drew in and people took their leave, a self-selected few remained. Keiko wished to play Articulate, but Ed wielded his veto, feeling that he knew the game back-to-front. Instead, we pondered a question of logic, at which I worked out the rationale for a double negative, before figuring out the phraseology, but that’s only because I had seen a variation of it demonstrated in an art-house film. Unfortunately, what I most remembered was the Master of Logic’s scorn for deduction by observation, rather than how to solve the riddle using logic, so I had to come up with that myself. Then Laura purloined Ed’s laptop to get new brain-teasers. After some more of these, I made my exit and after some public transport ease for once, arrived back in Gillingham by midnight.
Last Saturday, I met Jon in the flesh for the first time in more than a year. When in May 2008, he said he was going to be back in August, I though he meant August 2008, not 2009. On this sojourn, he was in Britain for a mere ten days, though he claimed he missed the place and even the weather.
Altaa and I met him in Brick Lane, with his half-brother Dave, Ed, Wodjti and Wodjti’s friend Steven. They had just finished their dinner and we moved on further along Brick Lane to a pub with the lights on low. We were joined later by Ben, who had just seen his beloved Crystal Palace lose at Bristol after having a legitimate goal ruled out because it bounced out the net too fast when the score was 0-0. On discussing what is today’s visit of Newcastle United to Selhurst Park, Jon didn’t believe me and thought we were going up to see Crystal Palace in Toon. I thought he was joking with me, which was a whole round of farce. We had some lovely raspberry beer and good catching up chat.
I looked at my watch at 10.45pm and decided that now was the time to go if we were to be at Victoria for the last train out of there. But Brick Lane to Liverpool Street station is a long way, especially with Altaa being in heels. We got onto the Underground at about 11.15 to miss out Circle Line train by seconds, partly because Altaa was negotiating the stairs in her heels against an onrush of people going the other way and partly because this man was standing at the bottom of the stairs blocking it with total thoughtlessness. Two Metropolitan Line trains and a Hammersmith and City Line train pulled in and out again, but no Circle Line train heading west. The digital board was unhelpful to say the least, only signifying a train moments before it pulled alongside the platform. At 11.30, having counted how many stations there were, I cut my losses and with Altaa headed for the Central Line on another level, having calculated their were only a few extra stops if we caught the Central, then the Northern and finally the District Line. It would be tight though. The Central Line was far more busier than the level we had left, but as we journeyed on the Northern, I gave serious thought to going to Waterloo and catching the very slow train that terminates at Gillingham almost at 2am. If we missed the train at Victoria, we might not have enough time to get to Waterloo afterwards. I decided to gamble and we switched at Embankment for the District. As we waited, there were two rowdy Chelsea fans celebrating their opening day victory. The train whizzed in, with a man strumming a guitar in one carriage as it passed by. We tried to get in a different section to the noisy drunken Blues, but that didn’t work, though at least we were at opposite ends of the wagon. They serenaded a captive audience with their chant “we’re bastards when we lose,” (though some would widen the criteria), rounded off with a victorious, self-parodying coda of “we never lose.” Then they went into a song of “Stand up if love Chelsea,” as the train reached another stop. My watched ticked agonisingly closer to the final time of the train. 00.03 and it was 11.59, with two more stops. Almost to affront these two fans, virtually no-one got up to leave the train at this juncture. Then just as the doors were sliding shut, in jumped that guitar hero I had seen earlier, who was a Johnny Cash impersonator. Immediately he launched into a rendition of Ring of Fire, in a duel to vocally outlast the two fans. In the end, even they were singling along to the Cash classic. We all applauded at Victoria and then Altaa, I and a fair few other people ran as fast as we could. I speeded up onto the concourse, making sure Altaa could see me and as I looked up at the departure board, I skittled by accident an empty pint glass left on the ground with my near airborne feet. We had made it with barely 90 seconds to go. Altaa caught up with me and we got on the train with just a minute left and, to cap it all, we got seats as well. It was all right on the night and exhilarating too.