This is the place I used to call home. I've done all the usual things, met with all the usual suspects. Not much have changed, the same beautiful people work behind the bar in Dublin Castle, only Lindsey's beard have grown to a cave man's size and wildness. The doormen, Adam and Frank, let us all in for free and was well happy to see their favourite customer of the year 2007. And Scott was pleased to see me, he even bought me a pint! A good old lovely Kronenbourg. Rick Gill was there, he said hello in the same way as if we've only bumped into each other last week. Same old, same old. Dave was there, with his sidekick Steve. He asked: Is she happy? And I said that she was, cause I think she is. And Dave Chase too, what a funny little twin. I saw Tapetseraren DJ-ing in the back room but couldn't be bothered to say hello. He was wearing one of his usual hideous boldly patterned shirts, that's all I needed to know. Nothing's changed, how comforting. Marcy, the girl on the door, was ranting about how Chelsea was going to win the league and how fuckin' cool that was, like I still cared, and I pretended that I do, although I really don't.
Then I suffered the hangover of the year, because people who never drink cannot, as we know and I should've known, handle a drink or many. So I had to sleep most of the day and missed out on a lot of shopping I was supposed to do. No harm done, I did some in Camden, and had a fika with Lilla Anna och Langa Farbrorn, although not in Toasted cause they were only doing hot dogs for the crawl. After that I went to Waterstone's and bought a pile of books for my family, small colurful ones with animals for lilla, interesting popular science ones for stora. I then had to carry this heavy bag of books the whole evening, which was a bit of a nuisance and a wonder I didn't accidently leave it somewhere. I managed to carry it all the way home, I am duktig, can you adam and eve it.
We spent the evening in a "bar", and bars as opposed to pubs, aren't very nice to go to. The music is too loud and too shite, the people are dressed up but ugly and most of them have crooked english noses and wants to shag other ugly english people, that's why they're there and that's what they get. In England I am snygg, in Sweden not as snygg. English girls are in general very unattractive, but they don't seem to know it.
Then we went to the Big Red, which is much nicer. But the birthday boy, John, was apparently too drunk, or the doormen were too anal, one of the too, so he was refused entrance. Some people decided to have an after party, but no no no not me, I went home to my little bed with a little cat sleeping and purring with me in the Archway living room.
It's strange to be a visitor, I'm not a visitor, am I? I'm one of them, I belong here, I'm part of the gang, aren't I? But then again I'm not, Elvis has left the building and the party continues without him. And I try to convince them all to have babies instead, because that is the one thing that beats everything else, the one thing to do with your life that has a point, but they're not convinced. Not yet. Not now. They don't know. I do.
A few hours of fun left, then I will return home to my favourite people in the world, lilla och stora. Min familj.
But now - Primark, what a horrible place but with wonderfully cheap things.
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