Monday Madness

I went out last night with 2 of my favourite chikie-babes. Ms. Smacked Face and Ms. G. Being a school night, and being on a extreme budget, it was going to be a reasonably "sensible" night. First bonus of the night was handing over my last 20£ over to get in, and getting 27£ back. Second bonus we saw a band that blew my socks off. The New Telepathics. I saw the band set up with 2 1/2 drum kits, 2 bass players, a guitarist, sax, keyboard, some kiddies mouth organ thingys, old vegetable oil cans, and to top it off was my friend Sandy Mill right in the middle of all this jumble sale of musical instruments. My first impressions was "How the hell are they gonna pull this off". Pull it off they did. I can't even describe how incredible is sounded. And Sandy's voice! I'm sure she eats angels for breakfast, because she sure has the voice of one. At times they looked like it was going to collapse into some Bonzo Dog Band type of musical noodling, as all the band members were looking at each other with furtive glances of the "Do I come in now? or now? or now....or right....NOW!" variety. But lose it they didn't. Amazing. Meanwhile in the crowd, we we're losing it. I was actually dancing. Which is as a rare as a dodo in my back pocket. I usually follow the Bill Hicks ethos of "Real man don't dance, they just curse and sweat" attitude, but goddammit I set the dodo free and my ass sure followed. After the set we had a few more beers, and Ms. Smacked Face went all doe-eyed or should I say sMITTen? Her alter-ego came out, McSmacked Face-Hen-Ye-Ken? Classic. I was in stitches. We left on a high note. I was left at the bus stop, with to be honest, not a fucking clue to get home. I decoded the squiggles and numbers and figured out I had to go to bus stop C. I asked a lady next to me if this was C. She said yes. 20 minutes later, there is a whole new set of people apart from yours truly. Something was wrong. I asked another lady is this C? No its K. Right...... I had to go find C. Not so easy for the night bus newbie that I am. After being accosted by gangs of turkish taxi drivers I figured out where the buses might leave from. By this time its 1am. I'm getting cold. I looked for signs but couldn't find any. They were painted on the road. What the fuck? It's like they thought when designing Liverpool St Station, "We've got 6,567 signs already... shit, none left in the budget, lets just paint them on the road, it's not like it's important information or anything." So happy that I had finally found my stop, I decided to have a mini-celebratory smoke. This of course made me a little paranoid. (I never learn) So then I decided to go across the road to check the map again. Then I went up to a bus driver having a break and also asked him if stop C was for me. He told me I needed to go to stop E. But alas he didn't know where it was. This started to unhinge some what. Someone must have me noticed me starting to flap a bit and the most unlikely hero came to my rescue. He was a 5ft extremely barrel like Ronnie Corbet lookalike with a Casey Jones train driver hat on and milk bottle glasses. And he wheezed when he didn't speak. But beneath that freakish exterior he was the god of night buses. He informed me that I had to get the 271, get off at Highbury corner and then catch the 19 which takes me pretty close to home. Soon enough the 271 came along and I was happily on my way home. Got off where I was supposed to. Walked to the other bus stop. I noticed the temperature had plummeted. I was freezing (I'm such a pussie in the cold). It dawned on me I might have to wait for half an hour for the next bus, when I spotted a flashing sign. It was a kebab shop. Now I haven't had a kebab yet in London, and I was trying to set a personal record to see how long I'd succumb to the rotating alter of sizzling mystery meat. I succumbed. It was delicious. To my surprise it didn't taste like ground up pigeons at all. Finished the kebab just as the 19 showed up. Choice. I got home just after 2am. I went to bed thinking "I wonder if that's how people end up on the streets? They can't find bus stops home." Moral of the story is: Listen to the freaks, they might just show you the way home.