Friday, 14 March 2008

Friday 14/03/08

By Tuesday morning my rusty dagger has become such a big part of me that I can't picture leaving the house without it. I don't completely depend on it, I'm much stronger than that, but there's a sense of security, strength, tranquility that comes from knowing that it's always there, just a few inches away from my hand, for those frequent moments that I need to feel its sharpness against my pale white skin, its brutal edge brushing against my fingers.

When I discuss this with ___, who completely understands my rational fears, I decide I need to get some more knives. This is not the time to be frivolous with my safety, it doesn't feel right to continue taking chances like this: unarmed, naked, unprotected.

I start researching knife shops near work online, realising this would make an ideal lunchtime destination, but it quickly becomes apparent that it’s not easy to find a dagger outlet in my part of central London. Blinded with desire and unable to concentrate on anything else, I ring up Scott and ask how he got hold of my existing knife, the knife that’s quickly become my most treasured possession.

Scott disappointingly informs me that his granddad (who was in the Navy) brought it from India in the 1960s as a present for Scott’s Mother, so it might be rare to find something similar around here. Quickly disregarding my concerns about anyone bringing a 25cm dagger as a present for a little girl (it was the 1960s after all) and unable to come up with more practical solutions, I zone out and start thinking of the moment I find this blade shop and walk in to make my purchase.

It’s a weekday lunchtime. It’s not Friday though, I can’t go on a dress-down Friday: I need to be smartly dressed, perhaps wearing a suit or something very officy anyway. If they have anything special in a back room or behind the counter I want me to look like I deserve to see it and have the means to buy it. I walk in, starting to sweat – with anticipation; not nerves – and with a steady voice I

...................................................................................................

On Wednesday at the gym, I’m in the changing room sucking my stomach in in the mirror, when Aussie Guy comes in and starts getting changed, leaving his gym card on a bench – face up so I can read his name.

Aussie Guy is a straight gym character, who I’ve been seeing most days over the last year or so, and it’s not like he’s amazingly sexy or anything (I suppose he’s alright; I mean girls would probably fancy him – we know what their standards are like), but I like him a lot. I like him because he’s nice, friendly, he always shares weights, he asks if you’re done, etc. If I were able to distinguish positivity, I might even say I get a positive vibe from him.

So anyway, I grab this opportunity and lean over the bench to untie and tie my shoelaces back up and I see his name. And his name is ___ ___. Later at home, I look him up on facebook, and as there are no results (it’s a very unusual combination of names so there is no one there), I decide to google him. And via the medium of googling him I find a news story about somebody with this name – who is also Australian according to the article – and was prosecuted for sexually attacking a girl two years ago. I take this as a good sign and a positive reinforcement of my faultless instinct about people, because let’s face it, what’s cool about somebody who’s not a rapist / homicidal maniac / drug addict / serious fuck up.

Finally, on my personal facebook update, I have now started a fanpage on there for London Preppy. Quite a few people suggested that this was a better idea than having a normal profile. So, sorry I have to ask you to do things again, but if you’re on facebook, please do a search for London Preppy and become a fan of the fanpage. I’ll be deleting the existing normal facebook profile (which has around 100 friends) soon. Sorry for the trouble and thanks.

18 comments:

Tim in Italy said...

Oh, daddy. I'm so tired right now that my day to day seems to be one strung out hallucination. So, forgive me if this comment seems totally out of whack, but I'm reaching a point where your fiction is more riveting than your... well, I was going to say, real life, but I'd be kidding myself, wouldn't I? The new fiction is rapidly out-pacing the old. Will they diverge, converge or will one gobble up the other. Either way, more nudity is definately required.

Jon C said...

The beginning part of this post reminds me of the Friends Thanksgiving episode flashbacks where Monica is trying to "be sexy" around Chandler and she's rubbing the knife against her body and then ends up dropping the knife and cutting off his toe.

Moral of the story: Scott needs to guard his toes carefully around you.

McKenzie said...

If the Ozzie IS the rapist then wouldn't that make him more attractive a la your fetish for B.E.E.?

Red Exile / Красная Ссылка said...

I suggest you get out of the habit of carrying a knife around with you: it is illegal to do so in the UK.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knife_legislation

Moreoever, this may (in extremis) lead to your British citizenship being annulled:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Immigration%2C_Asylum_and_Nationality_Act_2006

Dick Pics said...

i wish you'd ring scott up more. ever time i see those words i get excited cause i know what will follow will be utterly hilarious. i hadn't realized scott gave you the knife and that it was a family heirloom. is it supposed to symbolize something like an engagement type thing or did he simply give it to you cause he thought something sharp and shiny would distract you long enough for him to get a break from the crazy?

London Preppy said...

tim: I think I've got to say thank you to this!

jon: I can't say that I didn't have that scene on my mind when I was writing this

mckenzie: That is definitely the case I'm afraid

red exile: "Is it all fact, is it fiction, who the fuck knows"

dick: I think he's aware that the crazy is not really gonna go anywhere...

He didn't give me the dagger. I took it. Saw it, liked it, took it

Dick Pics said...

i see. tell me, have you ever seen the movie marnie?

London Preppy said...

No, what is it?

Dick Pics said...

its a hitchcock film about a kleptomaniac and one of her victims who becomes her long suffering husband. plot is kind of complicated but basically she wont put out and he wont let her go and its all so odd and crazy. you should watch it. sean connery is the husband.

Richard said...

I know what you mean about people like Aussie Guy. Not that I know him, but overall niceness coupled with a decently good smile and a criminal record = very intriguing.

george said...

how will you smuggle the dagger through customs when you go to australia?......or will this be the excuse to free you from going to australia?......george

London Preppy said...

george: I will hold it between my teeth (well, less hold, more bite) and storm through the airport like a maniac

kim said...

I will hold it between my teeth (well, less hold, more bite) and storm through the airport like a maniac

The main issue I have with this is that this activity is so common-place here these days that it won't get the media coverage it deserves, and I'm afraid you may, if you're lucky, only get a small 2-inch column-filler in the weekend papers for your efforts, and certainly no photo. I think you need to rethink this one and up the crazy a little more. We set a high standard for crazy out here; seen Wolf Creek?

Rambunctious WhipperSnapper said...

I know this is a total separate topic .. but i came across this blog which is extremely hilarious and my first thought was too ask you to see this ... don't know why .. kind of reminds me of your writing in a vague way ...

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com

Orchis said...

From what I've heard about Australian Customs officers they'd be more worried about you entering the country brandishing a diseased apple or ham sandwich.

London Preppy said...

rambunctious: That's a good blog. It upsets me deeply that it's had 12 million hits in 3 months, but it's good

Red Exile / Красная Ссылка said...

Oh.

But I thought the whole point of your blog was your slip-slidey descent into psychotic crisis.

Then, after you have run amok in A&F, knifing innocent staffers and shouting "I would have got a tattoo done for you, but you spurned me", your blog would have become a dyspeptic shrine on the Internet.

Some of your readers would have been at your trial as witnesses - for the prosecution, natch (they're a fickle bunch) - while some would write worthy, nay moralistic, features on you for the papers. Most, however, popped another 'E' while the female jurors wept - you broke their hearts with your sullen beauty - but they had to convict you.

From Court #1 of the Old Bailey you yelled: "I am not afraid to merge, I just can't be bothered!"

For the judge this - on top of evidence of your paper-eating ("but only if it was white, so as not to stain my teeth") - was the last straw.

He sentenced you to Broadmoor mental asylum, "at Her Majesty's pleasure”.

Isn't that where you're taking us?

London Preppy said...

red: 10/10. That's something I wish I had written myself