27 August - Rum & Coke
If you can't beat them... join them. I mean, I hate the Notting Hill carnival for all the obvious reasons (too many people? and who really gives a shit for the tinfoil parade? I know, I know, it's a celebration and I whinge) but this time I had to go, on account of the BF liking it and having not attended last year, he was eager to exercise his curious gaze on the throngs, or thongs. Admittedly the thought of being able to find refuge in a home that's never more than half a mile away did ease my ... unease.
At the Gaz Rocking Blues system we find people our age, sort of, I mean, Gaz is older or has not had the same amount of hours of sleep we've had. My day is made by seeing Paul Simonon from the Clash looking not like the sex god he used to be, always neat, always with hair, as he now has to wear a hat but… he’s still a god. My eye is caught by Ray, the best kept grey haired dred I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing Moschino patchworked jeans. Are they for real? Were they ever allowed out of the factory in the 80’s? I can't imagine any white guy apart from billy ray cyrus ever attempting these. This would mean this guy’s shape has stayed the same for twenty odd years though, not bad. He's topped them with a plain Versace t-shirt, back to front kangol and sunglasses. He’s a sort of a Samuel L Jackson and he knows it. He's caught me looking so he moves sideways to catch me following him wiht my eyes and gives me the 'Ah Ha' smile, which is dazzling of course. I have to dance with him, whther he's 60 or 70, after all I also took some rum straight from an optic that was being passed around. He starts to grind and I blush I believe, I could stay here all day but the BF has also purchased a nifty hat that many people stop him to ask 'Where did you get the hat, man' and before he decides to grind with a snake hipped girl, I better regain my composure. We head back more slowly than we set off, the crowds are building up.
I get it, only way to tolerate Carnival is if you go out early, say at 1pm and retreat at 3pm before it gets too jammed and you get claustrophobic. It’s all fun if you miss street food (and the Thais have taken over a stretch of road and have a 3 year old child holding up a banner for '3 Red Stripe for £5' - child labour?) till you realise that one street away and several houses to the right, they’re having the mother of a party. Or maybe the party is nothing much but they’ve hired huge amp power and they don’t cut it out till 3am. I'm considering going to join it but Toph says we'd be dancing with people we don't know/won't speak to. Er... what is it that we've been doing all day? But the not twenty something me stays in bed quite happily.
Next day…
So it is that my second carnival outfit had to be the Kylie-esque gold pants I receivd as a gift a while back. I knew they'd come in handy one day. The first day outfit was ok (had saved some rainbow coloured skirt and top from a sale) but we took a detour to a friend's garden where the outfit was sadly far too colorful for a girl who'd just received as a birthday gift the most exquisite Prada black leather purse. So now am walking around with a madras chequered Etro long silk skirt tied above the chest and flowing open with every step I take on my matching gold platforms. Am counting on dense crowd not seeing legs too closely, but there’s a breeze and the crowd is not so tight yet so, I get the looks. Now am counting on the fact that when men catch a glimpse of naked thigh and crotch with the tiny shorts, they will see just that and retain a dreamy impression, and not see naked OLD and NOT taut skin on said legs. Women of course would notice both. Like I did when watching the girls in brazilian samba costumes outside the Mau Mau café. They were incredibly taut as all early twenties. But competing would be foolish.
So, after a while am enjoying the looks I get and Toph who has also clocked them, eventually walks 20 paces ahead and turns to see what the effect is and is shocked. It’s too much! Bless, it’s ok for him to ogle women but not for me to show some flesh. Double standards or what? But am hoping he’s secretly pleased his girl is getting looks. Let’s put it this way, he’s not a backward oik who would send me home to get changed.
We can’t find any music we like, or rather, I could do with the 'new' stuff but it's too Choice FM for the BF, so we head back to Gaz again only this time he has a real band on the stage which is good whilst they play A Message to You Ru-dy, and not so good when they plays something else. And then there’s an announcement about Superman flying and we look up to a crane from which a bare chested Mutoid Waste Company style guy is hanging ….by two hooks piercing his shoulder blades skin. He hangs for a very long time, two songs worth at least. We turn away from the quease inducing dangler, to walk and talk to a young policewoman nearby who feigns disinterest. We want to know if this is legal though the answer is probably obvious, no one else but the willing victim is involved in this stunt. She’s blond, very pretty and young and seems reluctant to say anything because… there it is, we see it flashing in the sunshine, she has a tongue stud!!! ‘You’re kindred spirits!’ says Toph, but she denies it. But she’s smiling. Wow, the Met is all inclusive, proof!
A bit more wondering and back inside for a while. We re-pot a plant or two and water the garden. Nobody seems to have used as a toilet yet. We’re Billy no mates, as nobody calls, not even to use the loo, , so the Wray and Mackay rum is all for me. Delicious… though such a shame cannot be drunk neat and have to mix with hated Coke. I know, I could try it with pineapple juice like they keep telling us on those cheesy Jamaican ads, but the thought of it is unpalatable to me. Back out at 6pm for the last two or three hours and to meet RD who’s in the area with some friends having escape the wife and kids he was with yesterday. Thank god for kiddies face painters is all I can say he would have said. Kids love the stuff and what with waiting in line for ages for their turn, a good hour or more is whiled away in that fashion. He’s at the Westbourne where thank god they are not playing Caribbean music but… the Clash. Hurrah. He’s got a respectable job in radio and a band that’s been going for twenty years and I’ve never heard of. It’s possible to stay under the radar for that long. I wonder how it feels to be 45 and not have tasted real success. Back in the days when he was on yoof TV I remember we used to stay up for it, it was so novel and different. Either coming back from clubs or just staying up late. Or was his slot on the Sunday morning yoof TV, what was it called? Janet Street Porter was lording over it and Magenta de Vine seemed like someone you envied for a jammy job going round the globe doing some touristy programme. But I digress.
I sit down next to a guy who turns out to be the bass player for Mika. I can’t talk to him about much without giving away the fact that I have barely heard two songs, hate the graphics, hate the retro (Scissors Sisters are my exception). I ask him if it’s not boring to have just the one album to play at festivals and gigs and he says they add covers. He's very discreet so no point digging for gossip about an artist I don't care about and whose number ones if he had any don't impress me, truly that artwork kills me. Must be a trend of Lily Allen origin. Ahhhh. He tells me he goes to Thailand twice a year for detox on Ko Samui to rid himself from tour food. How sensible! Another friend of theirs, D, is a very open about the fact he’s hating losing his hair at 48 year old. He’s pretty fit so I tell him with some care and attention he can age like rasta Ray or Paul Simonon and be still hot. And he could take up triathlon and sublimate it all on competing with other blokes. But he’s lamenting the lack of girlfriend, says he left the last one as he didn’t fancy her anymore and promptly proceeds to chat to two really ugly women. Beer glasses? At least they’re the right age. He’s smarting from being totally dissed by a twenty year old the night before. Hopefully he's not told her he's not a successful musician and works for a charity. The twenty somethings of todays seems to me are in training for pulling rich guys or famous ones. Sweetly I hear the BF say to him ‘What do you want with a twenty year old? Go older…’ So I add ‘But not mid-thirties, unless you’re prepared to shoulder impromptu fatherhood’. Clearly the spirit of Carnival is leaving me if I go down that route.
So we go a-wandering again. And I can see by 9pm why it can all turn very ugly. By now the sensible people have headed home or are about to and all that’s in the streets is large groups of young men fired up by alcohol and looking for some action. They’re hoping for love action but the females about are playing the long game of being chased and feigning disinterest (well it may be real but it’s also the usual strange courtship ritual). So in the absence of celebratory love action, the boys are at fever point and anything can set them off. In fact all of a sudden on Ladbroke Grove there’s a stampede, and people come flying against us escaping god knows what. The police go diving in but within a minute there’s no sign of what or why it happened but it’s dark, we’ve seen enough and we go. Bed beckons at 11pm. I guess Big Brother must be today's equivalent of yoof TV which must have seemed equally inane to the 40 somethings of the day. I wonder?
At the Gaz Rocking Blues system we find people our age, sort of, I mean, Gaz is older or has not had the same amount of hours of sleep we've had. My day is made by seeing Paul Simonon from the Clash looking not like the sex god he used to be, always neat, always with hair, as he now has to wear a hat but… he’s still a god. My eye is caught by Ray, the best kept grey haired dred I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing Moschino patchworked jeans. Are they for real? Were they ever allowed out of the factory in the 80’s? I can't imagine any white guy apart from billy ray cyrus ever attempting these. This would mean this guy’s shape has stayed the same for twenty odd years though, not bad. He's topped them with a plain Versace t-shirt, back to front kangol and sunglasses. He’s a sort of a Samuel L Jackson and he knows it. He's caught me looking so he moves sideways to catch me following him wiht my eyes and gives me the 'Ah Ha' smile, which is dazzling of course. I have to dance with him, whther he's 60 or 70, after all I also took some rum straight from an optic that was being passed around. He starts to grind and I blush I believe, I could stay here all day but the BF has also purchased a nifty hat that many people stop him to ask 'Where did you get the hat, man' and before he decides to grind with a snake hipped girl, I better regain my composure. We head back more slowly than we set off, the crowds are building up.
I get it, only way to tolerate Carnival is if you go out early, say at 1pm and retreat at 3pm before it gets too jammed and you get claustrophobic. It’s all fun if you miss street food (and the Thais have taken over a stretch of road and have a 3 year old child holding up a banner for '3 Red Stripe for £5' - child labour?) till you realise that one street away and several houses to the right, they’re having the mother of a party. Or maybe the party is nothing much but they’ve hired huge amp power and they don’t cut it out till 3am. I'm considering going to join it but Toph says we'd be dancing with people we don't know/won't speak to. Er... what is it that we've been doing all day? But the not twenty something me stays in bed quite happily.
Next day…
So it is that my second carnival outfit had to be the Kylie-esque gold pants I receivd as a gift a while back. I knew they'd come in handy one day. The first day outfit was ok (had saved some rainbow coloured skirt and top from a sale) but we took a detour to a friend's garden where the outfit was sadly far too colorful for a girl who'd just received as a birthday gift the most exquisite Prada black leather purse. So now am walking around with a madras chequered Etro long silk skirt tied above the chest and flowing open with every step I take on my matching gold platforms. Am counting on dense crowd not seeing legs too closely, but there’s a breeze and the crowd is not so tight yet so, I get the looks. Now am counting on the fact that when men catch a glimpse of naked thigh and crotch with the tiny shorts, they will see just that and retain a dreamy impression, and not see naked OLD and NOT taut skin on said legs. Women of course would notice both. Like I did when watching the girls in brazilian samba costumes outside the Mau Mau café. They were incredibly taut as all early twenties. But competing would be foolish.
So, after a while am enjoying the looks I get and Toph who has also clocked them, eventually walks 20 paces ahead and turns to see what the effect is and is shocked. It’s too much! Bless, it’s ok for him to ogle women but not for me to show some flesh. Double standards or what? But am hoping he’s secretly pleased his girl is getting looks. Let’s put it this way, he’s not a backward oik who would send me home to get changed.
We can’t find any music we like, or rather, I could do with the 'new' stuff but it's too Choice FM for the BF, so we head back to Gaz again only this time he has a real band on the stage which is good whilst they play A Message to You Ru-dy, and not so good when they plays something else. And then there’s an announcement about Superman flying and we look up to a crane from which a bare chested Mutoid Waste Company style guy is hanging ….by two hooks piercing his shoulder blades skin. He hangs for a very long time, two songs worth at least. We turn away from the quease inducing dangler, to walk and talk to a young policewoman nearby who feigns disinterest. We want to know if this is legal though the answer is probably obvious, no one else but the willing victim is involved in this stunt. She’s blond, very pretty and young and seems reluctant to say anything because… there it is, we see it flashing in the sunshine, she has a tongue stud!!! ‘You’re kindred spirits!’ says Toph, but she denies it. But she’s smiling. Wow, the Met is all inclusive, proof!
A bit more wondering and back inside for a while. We re-pot a plant or two and water the garden. Nobody seems to have used as a toilet yet. We’re Billy no mates, as nobody calls, not even to use the loo, , so the Wray and Mackay rum is all for me. Delicious… though such a shame cannot be drunk neat and have to mix with hated Coke. I know, I could try it with pineapple juice like they keep telling us on those cheesy Jamaican ads, but the thought of it is unpalatable to me. Back out at 6pm for the last two or three hours and to meet RD who’s in the area with some friends having escape the wife and kids he was with yesterday. Thank god for kiddies face painters is all I can say he would have said. Kids love the stuff and what with waiting in line for ages for their turn, a good hour or more is whiled away in that fashion. He’s at the Westbourne where thank god they are not playing Caribbean music but… the Clash. Hurrah. He’s got a respectable job in radio and a band that’s been going for twenty years and I’ve never heard of. It’s possible to stay under the radar for that long. I wonder how it feels to be 45 and not have tasted real success. Back in the days when he was on yoof TV I remember we used to stay up for it, it was so novel and different. Either coming back from clubs or just staying up late. Or was his slot on the Sunday morning yoof TV, what was it called? Janet Street Porter was lording over it and Magenta de Vine seemed like someone you envied for a jammy job going round the globe doing some touristy programme. But I digress.
I sit down next to a guy who turns out to be the bass player for Mika. I can’t talk to him about much without giving away the fact that I have barely heard two songs, hate the graphics, hate the retro (Scissors Sisters are my exception). I ask him if it’s not boring to have just the one album to play at festivals and gigs and he says they add covers. He's very discreet so no point digging for gossip about an artist I don't care about and whose number ones if he had any don't impress me, truly that artwork kills me. Must be a trend of Lily Allen origin. Ahhhh. He tells me he goes to Thailand twice a year for detox on Ko Samui to rid himself from tour food. How sensible! Another friend of theirs, D, is a very open about the fact he’s hating losing his hair at 48 year old. He’s pretty fit so I tell him with some care and attention he can age like rasta Ray or Paul Simonon and be still hot. And he could take up triathlon and sublimate it all on competing with other blokes. But he’s lamenting the lack of girlfriend, says he left the last one as he didn’t fancy her anymore and promptly proceeds to chat to two really ugly women. Beer glasses? At least they’re the right age. He’s smarting from being totally dissed by a twenty year old the night before. Hopefully he's not told her he's not a successful musician and works for a charity. The twenty somethings of todays seems to me are in training for pulling rich guys or famous ones. Sweetly I hear the BF say to him ‘What do you want with a twenty year old? Go older…’ So I add ‘But not mid-thirties, unless you’re prepared to shoulder impromptu fatherhood’. Clearly the spirit of Carnival is leaving me if I go down that route.
So we go a-wandering again. And I can see by 9pm why it can all turn very ugly. By now the sensible people have headed home or are about to and all that’s in the streets is large groups of young men fired up by alcohol and looking for some action. They’re hoping for love action but the females about are playing the long game of being chased and feigning disinterest (well it may be real but it’s also the usual strange courtship ritual). So in the absence of celebratory love action, the boys are at fever point and anything can set them off. In fact all of a sudden on Ladbroke Grove there’s a stampede, and people come flying against us escaping god knows what. The police go diving in but within a minute there’s no sign of what or why it happened but it’s dark, we’ve seen enough and we go. Bed beckons at 11pm. I guess Big Brother must be today's equivalent of yoof TV which must have seemed equally inane to the 40 somethings of the day. I wonder?
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 5:52 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home