I’m having a cup of coffee here at The Flask in defiance of the prevailing Friday night “let’s get drunk” energy. I think I’d like to get home completely sober and just … treat tonight fully like a job. Friday night crowds are always a bit larey. I want to be alert for them. It’s cold and I’m gonna be doing this every night until Tuesday. No point knackering myself at this point. Do the tour, go home sober, sleep well. That’s the plan. That’s the dream. It should be easy, but there’s always that moment when someone offers to buy me a drink. Oh, self control. I knew thee once. Or did I?
I’m still using those Dott Scooters to get up Swain’s Lane, and get back to the car at the end of the night. There’s something hilarious about gliding along on one in the gloaming with my top hat on and my riding cape billowing out behind me. Black on black on the winter night roads though, so again it is best if I have had absolutely no beverages. That would be a supremely dumb way to kark it. I’m sure I’m adding to local legends though as people drunkenly catch a glimpse of me shooting past like a witch on a broomstick. Next year I’ll be telling stories about myself.
It’s too cold to have my phone in my hand though. Oh God winter is coming. I’m gonna jump up and down for a bit before kick-off.
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“You’ve got a big booming voice,” says Ethan, folding up napkins while I sit trying to warm up in the little kitchen. “It gets tired though,” I tell him. “How long is it?” “Almost 3 hours.” “Of you just shouting?” “Pretty much. People pay good money for that.”
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And they did. It was lovely. Some regulars in big groups. They come every year, and they made an effort tonight. We had to think hard for the costume prize. In the end it went to Red Riding Hood and The Wolf, but it was touch and go. There was a birdwatcher with robins eating her brain, but it didn’t take the public vote. Too weird perhaps. You needed to look closely.
I’m home now and I did accept a drink. Only the one as I didn’t want to have to leave Bergman in Hampstead. Still I’m wired instead of sleepy. Friday night London energy and I’ve picked up on it. I reckon I’m in for a marathon Kindle session before I can turn my brain off, but I don’t have to leave the house tomorrow until 4. Luxury.
AlBarclay 