Iv spent the evening in Shepherds Bush watching the Ram Raid. As you can imagine I had a very enjoyable evening. I had arranged for two people to accompany me, thinking that if one pulled out the other would still be there,. One pulled out a few days ago and the other pulled out at about midday. I was thrown into an instant panic. I wanted to go see the band but I couldn't go to a bar in London BY MYSELF!!!!! I would look like a right looser. I text around the very few people I know in London and got a few potentially possibly perhaps maybes and decided to get ready and go anyway. After a shower, 12 outfit changes and a new coat of nail varnish I set out for the bus. The walk through Peckham was as always interesting but uneventful and I got on the bus still full of hope. No one text me while I was on the bus. Except for Hutch who told me again just how sick she was and just how much she was sorry to miss it.
I got the bus to Oxford circus and had a wander round. I popped into a book shop to have a look at the 'Fifty Shades of Grey' book that has been all over the the news recently. I always enjoy a good semi- erotic woman's novel, but the thought of everyone on the train knowing what I was reading put me off slightly so I didn't bother.
Got the tube to shepherds bush and spend sometime walking the wrong way down the road (as I am prone to doing in London) until I eventually got on the right road.
Euphoric that I finally seemed to be going in the right direction tt dawned on me once again that I was planning to spend the evening sitting in a pub on my own. Women in their mid twenties (for unfortunately I am now approaching mid twenties rather than early twenties) do not spend Monday evenings on their own in a pub miles away from where they live. People cross the road to avoid the kind of people who go to the pub on their own. But by this time I was in shepherds bush, facing the right direction and walking briskly down the road and suddenly face to face with the bassist who obviously had no idea I was going to turn up but was rather pleased I had.
In fact rather than feeling like a massive looser I actually felt like one of the cool band entourage. Which was nice. And they all seemed genuinely pleased I was there. Whether they were or not is a different story but I like to think they were. And they all seemed very interested in my new job, my wonderful, geeky, history job. No where near as cool as their job but still quite cool.
And I was introduced to the bassists other female followers who turned out to be very interesting nurses who offered to take me out round London soon. The band were, as always, still very handsome, and still all smelt very manly.
I had a huge burger and a few glasses of wine and settled back to enjoy the show, I even got chatted up by two Irish men who told me they liked my hair. They didn't believe that any woman goes into the hair dressers and says 'do what you want, make it look nice' asI do. I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to hair. Not like the ram raid boys who are well up on hair conditioning products.
They were, as always, really bloody good. And watching them felt like a warm comfort blanket. Within the scary , unfamiliar London walls, there was a little piece of Meribel. And as alway their set finished too soon. And as always they played none of my favourite songs (they do it to tease, and because I will eventually get so desperate to hear Marc Bolan's 20th Century Boy that I will have to hire them and pay them to play it)(which I am not beyond doing if I ever earn any money).
I felt privileged that when they played their own stuff as I already knew it and already loved it. And when they had finished I got very excited to pretend to be their roadie again! God I had missed being a roadie. Carting all the gear around. Looking at hundreds of different types of wires. Pretending I really was cool enough to be there. Being a roadie really is my dream job.
And then it was over. Time for me to say goodbye with no inkling of when I would see them again, other than some vague promises to come and look round the museum in which I work.
So at one in the morning I made my way to the bus stop to find my way back home. I hadn't been at the bus stop more than 30 seconds when the man approached me for a conversation. He was obviously rather drunk and spent ten minutes telling me I was beautiful and an angel and he hoped that one day I would be his girlfriend. I have already written of my distrust of anyone who calls me beautiful and this man was no exception. He spent some time trying to get my telephone number and telling me to ring him if I had any problems getting home. I told him I had a boyfriend. I was prepared to use any man I knew as a potential boyfriend and wasn't far off from getting Ram raid to swing round and get rid of him. I finally got him to go away with the promise that should I ever be in shepherds bush again and in need of a coffee and a friendly Algerian I would give him a ring and consider him as my next boyfriend.
I don't know if he was aware that I was stood on the wrong side of the road for the bus. I suspect he was too drunk for that. But eventually I realised and decided to cross the road and get the night bus.
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