New York Super Fudge Chunk!

Haha. It just got better. The site manager at the Guggenheim just quit so I’m taking her position, on higher pay. This way I retain my position in the company but just move across to NY! They’re paying for my flight and $500 a month towards rent and have just given me £200 towards the cost of my suit and are also giving me a bonus on next moinths pay! Life is sweet. Got up at 6am today to help move tables and chairs from the venue of our rollicking final fling on Friday night back to St. James’ Palace. Then after work I went out for an enormous helping of spicy chicken satay followed by a trip to the Hagen Daz cafe in Leicester Square. Three of us couldn’t decide which to order so we just shared a cookie crunch, brownie surprise and chocoholic. Now I’m fat. Life is sweet.

It’s not a dip if the thing you dip in it snaps …

I have a black suit and a brown suit so I figured it made sense to get a grey one (incase my brown one is frowned upon at the Palace). Went to NEXT after work. Hilarious. If anyone’s seen me try to find a pair of trousers that fit, multipy that experience by a factor of ten. I’m not a 40 or a 42. But I am a Long. I know this much is true. In one shop the assistant watched me try on every suit they had before informing me that their ‘made to measure’ service was half price at the moment. Which is pretty cool. But it takes 6 weeks. So I just hung around in NEXT laughing at a crowd of guys desperately trying to match suit jackets with trousers, all without their womenfolk to guide them. Although some were on their mobiles to them; “Yea, there are blue bits in it. Sorta like stripes. Oooo. And tiny, tiny red stripes by the blue ones. Uhha. I THINK its wool …”. Having found a rather nice jacket I retired. Looking forward to spending the whole of Wednesday scouring the NEXT sales throughout London in a desperate bid to find a matching pair of trousers.
I wrote the brief introductory essay for Nick in Toronto FINALLY. Needs revising sometime though.
Discovered that the best people to go drinking with in central London are museum workers. This is because they get paid diddely-sqaut and so go to places like the Imperial College Union bar where Blackthorn is £1.30 a pint. I bought a round for under a 5er and subsequently enquired about renting a room.
Read an article in the paper today. Turns out people who listen to too much loud music on their Ipods can suffer from ‘music hallucinations’, i.e. hearing music when none is actually playing. Unfortunately it was the Daily Mail reporting, so this quote was overlooked; “People who are regularly bombarded by loud music tend to hear music.” Really?

Yay. Found out that the company’s budget for the V&A was based solely on projected figures. These being that more than 2000 ppl a day were expected to come through the door. They’re actually getting less than a thousand, so the targets drop way down. Seems we’re actually doing okay. Which means I can stop worrying about it. And shop. I have one pair of jeans, a pair of shorts and a pair of trousers that fit. I could do with at least another pair of jeans.
Bought a rucksack today in a sale. You really know you don’t need a new bag when you’re carrying it. In your bag.

This’ll be the summer I go out of my mind.

So James smokes some pot with one of the guys from head office and finds out I’m the company’s Golden Boy. Apparently they need someone to supervise at the V&A who can ‘charm’ all of the different V&A departments, and someone who’s ‘calm under pressure’ to site manage Buckingham Palace over the summer and apparently they seem to think I’m ‘the perfect person’ for both jobs. Two weeks there and already I’m lined up for their most prestigious site. And therefore pay rises. Yet they might scrap that idea. I’ve been covering for the manager at the V&A for three days now and I’m running way, way, way below target. Management seem to have dreamt up a target of £917 per day. This, for the moment at least, is absolutely unobtainable for a miriad of reasons. I’d get bored just listing them all. The main one at the moment being that tumble weed don’t buy audio guides. The place is deserted. Perhaps coz the show (International Arts & Crafts) opened on a Wednesday, or coz London decided to get sunny and beautiful all of a sudden (on Wednesday!). Either way, this plus 101 other reasons meant that I made £378 today. At least the security guys don’t come on to me here.
Everytime I go and sit on a bench outside the V&A in the sun it feels like the time last summer I was on the corner of Spadina and Dundas waiting to meet someone, trying not to crush the merringue hidden in my bag. This disturbs me somewhat. It’s like I’ve been in deep freeze for 6 months and when I got out into the sun at lunchtime I thaw. It’s saddening. The best time in London at the moment is 5.45pm. I come out of the museum into dusk. The warmth of the day is making its way to the horizon following the light and it brings back memories of hanging out in Redlees Park when I was a kid.

As stupid as this sounds I haven’t had time to listen to music in such a long time. I gotta get on that.

The suit claims another victim.

Someone accused me the other day of spending too much time thinking about and looking at breasts.
To them I say this : [http://www.liquidgeneration.com/poptoons/britneys_breasts.asp]

How tall is Santa?

What’s with all the ladybugs this time of year?

Theres now a £140, 5′4 Santa standing infront of the fireplace at the pub. Whenever someone walks past him, he dances and sings. Thankfully someone’s figured out how to turn the sound off, so now he just dances, moving his lips silently and then stops and stares eerily at members of the public. He’s meant to generate Christmas cheer, but all he generates from the punters are pained looks of worry and concern.
I think he needs an ESB bottle in one hand, a pistol in the other and an eye-patch. I’m working on it.

A noble and faithful steed.

Thursday night rocked. Have you met Jules? He’s big, curly and mean. One of those terms isn’t true. Anyhow, he came with me at 9pm to the “Something Else” show in Soho feat. SWOON who’s one of the greatest artists ever. In a street kinda way. Lots of beats, lots of crazy kids in hats and live painting by a diminuative Japanese lady in pyjamas. Who just made a mess. Will post a pic or two when I get them developed. Was hoping to meet her but couldn’t find her. The loos were tagged up something rotten and I got to sneak around the Swoon installation and touch it and take photos and and… I’m so excited! Then today I turn the page in The Times Magazine and theres a portrait of this guy whose meant to have turned Miami into the latest artworld mecca and whats glued onto the windows of his building? Swoon stencils. But she wasn’t mentioned in the article at all.
Man I wasn’t with it before the show. I got off at Picadilly and I COULDN’T FIND CHINATOWN! Yes folks, thats how much of a lost cause I was. I think my brain just died. We ate far too much Chinese food, dude. Must do it again sometime. Next time round I’ll try and finish my sentences.
Friday was work, work, work. Lots of old guys with their bint ladies got to stay for a lock-in til 3. Joe sneaked off dead early without telling anyone, but the arseholes bought me and Al loads of drinks for still serving them 3hrs after closing time. Then one of them picked a fight with Al behind the bar (“20 years, boy! 20 YEARS! You won’t last a minute” However having seen Alex I’d beg to differ.) So they were all kicked out, with that same guy asking me if I’d want a smack on his way out. His best mate had just died apparently. He was just feeling vunerable I guess.
Saturday – even MORE people than last week. Made £23000 (normal Saturday turnover around £9000). Had Gift of Gab to guide me through the breaks and discovered solitude, quiet and food in the kitchen. Left at 3.30am. Felt uncomfortable, I suspect the landlady thought the same thing as the Poles (for some reason) that I’d been on…get this…cocaine! haha. That’s me to a tee. Or rather not.
Sunday was sweet coz I trained up a new Kiwi and then a load of staff turned up and bought me drinks which made the shift flyyy by. Boss bought us all tasty Tapas and Rioja for lunch then a drink at the pub. Stayed til I was bladdered, then went for a curry that James kindly paid for. I managed to get away without paying a penny today. Staggered home.
Woke up today with one hell of a hangover. Now I’m helping to sort out the emotional mess James is getting into at work with the smaller of the two Poles. And preparing to cook steak at home for the first time in years and years and years.
And this techno version of California Dreaming rocks.

Sur le weekend.

Last night I learnt never to get on a bus filled with drunk rugby players. I also learnt never to get OFF a bus with drunk rugby players….

Saturday’s England Canada game wasn’t as busy as I had expected. Which could have had something to do wityh the fact that there were 14 ppl behind the bar. Id spied aload of enormous tiger prawns defrosting in the kitchen in the afternoon and after closing I sneaked into the kitchen to check on their progress, and was reassured by the boss’ drunken words; “Don’t you worry Hayden, they’re all for us… all for us.” And indeed they were. Split between me and 2 others, accompanied by smoked salmon, cream cheese on toast, steak pie, chicken tikka pastries, hot dogs and booze. Wioleta won best barperson of the day and had to drink Sambuka from her trophy cup. The biggest slacker of the day award wasn’t awarded, probably because it couldn’t be ascertained whether anyone was actually managing (however hard we tried) to work less hard than James, and he was pissed as a fart, and so couldn’t be counted. A glorious day was had by all. Mainly due to the post-work feed. And the fact that at least three of the staff were more pissed than any of the punters.
After an hour of setting up the bar by myself the first person into the pub on Sunday morning (Ben, a chubby forward in the Richmond squad)was also the last to leave, thankfully with all his clothes on. Two of my mates from school popped in which was a rather splendid surprise and the evening was quite easy going, except for the clamour of the wasted rugby lads. I got on the bus after work and 4 of the rugger-buggers were in the back, literally swinging around like monkeys, doing 360 spins around the bars and trying to kick each other out of the doors from the moving vehicle. At one point ben took a fall from the ceiling of the bus which he totally didnt expect and momentarily passed out, much to the hilarity of all present. I felt sorry for the other ppl on the bus though who must have been scared shitless at the sight of these 6ft monstrosities climbing around the bus and shaking every bolt, window and fitting in the vehicle, whenever one of them came crashing to the floor, head or feet first, which was often. I got off the bus and they all seemed to disembark with me. Turns out they live about 2 mins walk from me! Humourous events unfolded – Ben knelt down and vomited by a car, only to be coaxed by his team mates into scrumming with it and nearly pushing it back into the car behind it – to top the evening off, half way down the road Ben got completely naked and gave out a dirty snigger whenever I looked at him; Alex had on his boxer shorts and waddled home with his trousers round his ankles describing to me the different elements of humour in Road Trip, Old School and American Pie; Philipos (an enormous Greek) ran down the street wearing only his sweater and bumped violently into a taxi; another guy – managing to not wear any of his possessions yet drunkenly and rather skillfully tie them all around his waste walked up behind me and asked me who I was (Lord knows what he though I was doing sitting next to them on the bus and walking back with them!). Bear in mind it was midnight in November! I was invited back for a BBQ, but I though that way madness lay, so declined the kind offer.

An interesting weekend in all, one that I suspect I shall not experience again. At least not for another week!

It’s a long one. But then it was a long weekend.

Busy, busy few days. The England South Africa game was by far the busiest I have ever seen a pub be. That Try was the most amazing bit of sport I have ever seen. Although I have seen hardly any. But really – it was amazing! And I was working alll day. Solid people from door to bar from 10AM!! The boss got drunk and hid one of the punter’s jacket and shopping and fell asleep upstairs at 11 with her phone in his pocket. Internationals are the only days we get tips from the wealthy in Richmond so we stayed til 4.30am drinking our earnings. I got home, tired and abused, and called Aynsley a little tipsily at quarter to 5. ’twas her birthday and I managed to catch her before she’d opened her presents, which was great. I hope she had fun.
Hahaha. At the lock-in just before leaving, one of James’ mates from another pub (who had been in since about 8pm) kept trying to hump one of the Poles who was leaning on the bar, drunk herself and pretty much oblivious to this. James kept shouting “Matt NO! No Matt NO!” and pushing him away. It slowed him down a bit, until I pointed to her butt and said to the drunk guy; “Hmm, diiiner”. I don’t think I was helping the situation. Sorry James.
The setup of the Sunday morning shift was HORRIBLE. Everything was covered in Sambuca and hair. I could only find half the glasses. Luckily I got to watch the repeat of Saturdays match and then one of the Richmond 2nd row showed me a home made porno on his mobile. Eww. But impressively so. I also found out why one of the other player’s nicknames is “Porno-wheres my watch?”. Eww. Too much information.
The shift finally flew by, I’d sobered up and bumped into one of my school teachers, who bought me lunch. Sweet!
It was harness city on the walk home. At the foot of the bridge there were two ladies with Siamese cats on leads, trying to pick them up and away from the oncoming Terriers on leads who were in front of someone steering their baby with a kiddy harness. Chuckles.
Barely had time to shower before I went back to Richmond, met a Pole, and went Ice Skating. Now in Poland they all have to ice skate to work between February and December. Or something like that. I once ice skated when I was 8. And from what I remember, I sucked. Time for some rum & cokes. Once on the ice I was o.k. For the first half hour I was fine. Well, I was skating crap but I didn’t have THE FEAR. That kicked in after my first fall. Earlier I was like “man, you mean you can just glide around on this stuff? Look at me! I’m flyyyying!”. After THE FALL I was like “Dude, we’re sliding around on slippery concrete! Aaaah!”. I pulled a muscle in my groin after Wioleta came up behind me and accidently knocked me over. So I just sat. But it was very fun. Til next week. Found a sweet pub in the Kings Arms, Moscow St. Attentive, competent barstaff. And lots of room. But whats with the £5 deposit and 15min time limit on the Connect4? Gold tequila and coke makes for a good drink.

The cover to the Gwen Stefani album is by the guy who augmented the photography in the superb 2004 Pirelli calender (and no, unfortunately, I don’t have one of the originals). And the best track is Bubble Pop Electrinic feat. Johnny Vulture. But thats as far as I’ve got. Why do the songs have to be soooo short? Not being brought up on MTV means I can stay with something for more than 2 mins.

And the International Anime and Manga festival is coming to London. And it’s free. But why is the cover illustration so abhorrent? [http://www.imaf.co.uk]

And gimme a bell if you want to checkout the opening party (this Thursday, 8-11pm, Soho) to this SUPERB show. If I get to meet Swoon I might just wet my pants. [http://www.urbanartofficial.co.uk]

 

The hangover must stop now.

Spilt drinks and knickers.

Today I managed to empty a barrel of Strongbow over the cellar floor. Without even knowing it. 50 litres (equaling roughly a gazzilion quarts or a million .oz or whatever those strange North American excuses for measurements are) all sprayed onto the floor. And I’d have gotten away with it too if it hadn’t have been for that pesky gas leak! Luckily my boss is gold and just chuckled cheekily about it. I did a quick bit of maths and worked out that was about £220 worth of cider. Oooops. That’s like two weeks worth of wages. Down the drain.

Then I saw the film Pieces of April. It’s great. Even my dad liked it. It surprised me with its maturity. And the sight of young Miss Holmes in her skimpies made me think about what I’m missing in T.O. (And I’m not talking about sushi). Still, better to be hers and without her than not be hers at all.