Smashed to Shades

I have some strange allure towards cafes especially old, skanky, greasy ones. I know why this is, of course, I am from Thanet. I skipped school to eat with my mates in cafes and smoke fags and drink beer on the beach. Coastal kids have different pastimes to land-bound kids, different hobbies.
Anywho, there is a very good website which contains small articles about such cafes and so on. The top one out of the London area (which, of course is always going to be the standard for cafes- Del Boy, Tracy Jacks and all that) was one which I used to work at.
This shocked me.
I used to work in Morellis, Broadstairs and this place is different because it’s one of the only original 1950′s style diners left in the country that have original features. Like the ghastly pink Formica ceiling feature and the soda fountain which was never on. People flocked into our establishment as if if were some kind of Mecca. And, sure, for people with interests such as mine that seems perfectly reasonable. But there is nothing like working somewhere to really really put you off. I won’t go too much into it, it was a long time ago and I like my job now so it all worked out OK in the end. But there is nothing more aggravating than hating something that you should really love. And perhaps if I hadn’t worked there and associated it with all the betrayal, the rowing, the sadness I felt at that time then I might be able to view what a beautiful place it really is.
And that is depressing.

The Guardian keep tempting me with supplementary leaflets of holidays of cruises and wine tasting holidays in Bordeaux.
I have been shopping for nightclothes and food in Marks and Spencer’s.
I bought some flowers and a candle for my room and I have started taking “relaxing” baths.

I am turning into a suburban middle aged woman of leisure.

Alright, so I am not really in the habit of doing this but what the hell. I usually steer clear of blogs outlining my every move as I know humans have no interest in these matters (unless of course they are undertaking them themselves- what awful grammar!)unless there is some interesting information held within re: the location of their ex partner or what Susan said about Tony, that kind of thing. But still.
So, this week I went to Bath, except yes I do go to Bath but that wasn’t the main focus of my trip. Tom and I were staying as his godmother’s house in Bradford on Avon which was a very odd upside down cake of a house where the sleeping quarters where downstairs and the rest of the house including the front door at the top. This was very exciting and also meant the front room have a phenomenal view over the countryside which one could see for miles. The garden led into a wood and someone who has something to do with Mr Bean lived next door. Lots of animals lived in the wood, unfortunately we didn’t see them, such as foxes, badgers, deer and so on. To get to the town you had to go down 36 steps and then through a path which only once persons could fit down length ways so we all had to go single file. I was amazed by the houses because they were all made out of Bath stone or made to look like Bath stone so there were hardly any red brick buildings around which is a very different experience I must say.
One of the best places we went to was this cafe on the edge of the canal. The menu was very interesting to look at and the owners had made it humorous to read. Also, if you wanted, you could eat your lunch in a fake canal boat which was rooted to the side of the canal which was painted in very bright colours which was an exciting gimmick.
Bradford on Avon was very pretty. There was a 10th century barn which, if I do say so myself, I took some cracking pictures of. Unfortunately there isn’t much else to do after the first few hours of walking around going “wow” really. We all went for some lovely fish and chips on the last night (as Tom’s 13 year old brother having spent all his time in Switzerland had never had it before) and it was very swanky in the restaurant. The whole area is middle class to say the least..

Bath itself was quite different. I guess this isn’t surprising really because it is a much larger place and was very tourist focused but living in Canterbury does prepare you somewhat for this. There was a small crescent shaped waterfall below the first big bridge as you come into Bath and the ducks use a little stairway to get up and down so they don’t get stuck which I found cute. I was also a tad shocked to realise that you had to pay £1 to get into the park around the river! Tom, Matthew and I went to a different, bigger park and played mini golf which was fun but I got very badly beaten even though I started off with such gusto. I think this is going to go on forever if I don’t pipe it down. To cut a long story short I had a good time despite being ill and Bristol managed to confuse me an awful lot. Most of the place seemed to be a building site and as I said to Thomas I am sure it will all be very lovely in 2010 so I might go back then I think.. There were lots of other exciting little bits like seeing a tiny snake (which then gave me nightmares), the dinners we had, mm cake, and as usual I bought some fabulous clothes, dragged Thomas round all the shops and ate a lot of crap.

So how do you solve a problem like knowing something you shouldn’t know? It’s not like it was supposed to happen, it was out of sheer intrigue and amusement and now.. now I don’t know what to say. Perhaps to say nothing but would that be untrustworthy? Would it result into too much pressure, an undesirable response? They say ignorance is bliss but what.. oh fuck.
I hate being overly personal, I don’t want to inflict the idiocy on others, but it’s a hard nut to crack as they say. I am torn between myself (mainly my own fear) and what I think is the right thing to do and to say..
I am a jealous person

How sad, when you try so hard in photographs to hide who you are; the forced smile, the look of desperation, of want-lust, love, hate. The wish and the promise of something more than no-one else can ever give, the look of hunger and disgust but also of sheer hopelessness. You crawl around on all fours but try so hard to pull yourself up because you cannot face this single vision any longer. It’s like a curse to you, the days spiraling in and out of each other like an endless stream of emotions and disappointments. You look so happy but in the sense that it feels like you are pleading, wanting someone to pay you attention and not cut you out, the arrogance, the shame. And still you are only half there, like time has been wasted on this endless struggle. Like a fish pulling itself upstream through storm and rain only be eaten by a larger fish who never even had to try, who’s charm and force was enough to push through life without the inconvenience of wanting and wishing and hoping. But you’ve far from had enough. You will keep thinking that one day.. one day.. and the saddest thing is the answer lies there dormant waiting for you to discover it, and take it away.

If I can tell all of this from a photograph, imagine what else I could know.

So..
For a long time I wanted to keep this private, again if my own sanctimonious, pitying whine would be of any interest to anyone other than myself. Idiotic.
I sound unhappy, and I am surely not.
I think I understand something now slightly better. In my last blog I spoke about a fellow who I was able to understand emotionally, which viewpoint similar to mine, perhaps a kind of confidant. Anyway, whatever. The point is here now that perhaps that isn’t so important. It is nice to be able to talk to someone and not have to clarify your position because you trust that it is the same as yours but where is the fun in that? And who’s to say that this is the same understanding, the mind moves in myterious ways. So now I do think that the meaning of true friendship and perhaps love is that you are willing to accept and to understand a viewpoint that is hugely different to your own.
It’s odd how I am not that bothered.

On Friday I went out for the evening. This is a rare event on a Friday because if I have to stay up one minute past Midnight I turn into something far worse than a pumpkin, believe me. The thought of me not getting seven hours sleep scares and infuriates me (it’s OK to be in bed and not asleep right the way round til 4am though I must add).
So anyway yes back to my original point. My Finish wife/sister of mine went to an art exhibition held by some chaps she knows from UCCA which was, for want of a better synonym, nice. Most of the work I was very impressed with. Sister Finn and I went on to a pub, where I was then accosted by a barmaid when I didn’t think I had my ID was thrown out and then for me to storm back like a phoenix from the flames- BOY DID I SHOW HER, and then we met some of the fellows from the exhibition and moved on.

Usually I would skip these details as I am not in the habit of going on and on about menial daily details but I am trying to make this slightly more interesting and to hold a lot of the context.
My main point is that I spent some considerable time talking to a guy about art, music, social structure and so on and so forth. A lot of our ideas fell in parallels and he said that he found it odd that he has lacerated himself in front of me when I didnt really know him that well at all.
And that got me thinking about things. Was it easier for him to say everything he did because he didnt know me or because he felt there was some kind of connection mentally between us or what? Or was he just drunk? Sypathising with everything I said to sound like he was interested more in the conversation? If he wasnt gay I think I would question these thoughts futher but I am finding it surprising that someone I had limited contact with previously (and for that matter not quite enjoyed it) discussed with me some of my ideas of my whole ethos on life.
Maybe I should keep my cards closer to my chest and push others away.