Let it Bleed, curfews and booze

The thing about curfews that I have learned recently is that they cause strife and good dialogue. I've got some absolute comedy gold from some of the curfew related conversations I've had with my flatmate but I just don't think she quite realises how many parties I leave sickeningly early to get back in time for the curfew. That's not even counting the after-parties and strange events in the twilight hours I've passed up because of the curfew.

Last night I was out with chums on the pretext of doing some work related stuff. It started off well and for at least a bit we were furiously coming up with ideas and writing them down in moleskines but then we were forced to leave the bar because of the football being on. Then we stumbled onto some metal pub where I brought a double round of beer and the work sort of stopped. Instead we swigged away happily while talking about fights, Roy Orbison and the Stones.

My first encounter with the stones was rather late, I think I was a teenager and while rooting around in the attic (which was always a source of exciting things) I found some of my father's records and a slightly wonky wind-up gramophone. The sleeves were caked with dust and I can remember slowly cranking up the gramophone while I looked at the strange cover of 'Let it Bleed' wondering what sort of music would be contained inside.

I listened carefully to it, and I can remember frowning slightly at some of the tunes but the final track 'You can't always get what you want' completely blew me away. If I'd had any say in my father's funeral or memorial it would have been one of the tunes I would have played.

Anyway it was a great pub conversation. and I was really having a great time but then when the clock struck ten I had to scamper off into the night to get home before the dreaded curfew. It was a real shame but then I suppose you can't always get what you want...

Sexy jumpers, mojo and curfews

I've got a thing tonight, it could be very easily described as a date, if one were to take a specific view on it.

It's certainly been planned like a date, a few interesting activities have been planned including a special tour of some hidden parts of London. A few different routes have been planned so depending on how the date is going a specific sort of bar or pub can be 'happened upon'. Late night options have even been considered - just in case we are filled with a burning need to go to some sort of ultra-cool jazz club hidden away in a side street where the door man owes me a favour.

I'm thinking about clothes as well, this person has only seen me in waistcoats which is lovely but perhaps tonight might be better served by a jumper. To show that I'm not always so formal. This jumper would dictate my choice of socks and then of course underwear. Not that I'm expecting anyone to see my underwear tonight but a chap should always be careful, and co-ordinated.

The reasons why this event tonight shouldn't really be considered a date are two-fold.

1) I'm staying at H's place on his sofa. Thus I have a curfew. My parents never gave me a time limit when I was growing up so this is something of a new experience. The curfew isn't any sort of enforced thing, it's just that H couldn't find the spare keys so I have to head back when he is still awake.

2) While Operation New Life is rattling along at a fair old pace (The Ultra-van was delivered today it's almost exactly like the A-team van) I still feel sort of transient. I hate it when people use the concept of timing when explaining why something didn't work out, you know the sort 'if only we had met a few years ago'. People who use that line should be immediately stabbed with a fork.

What I think it is I've just mislaid my mojo. Much like H with his spare keys. I'm sure it's about somewhere if I really look for it but right now it's 'missing in action' not dead, just M.I.A.