On Saturday morning I wake up and this is one of the worst weekends yet, it’s like it doesn’t exist, my weeks now run as follows: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Monday, Tuesday, ad infinitum. I am terrified of going to Australia and leaving everything behind, and the closer I get to the date I’ve set the more freaked out I become, but this can’t go on as it is. Maybe Australia will be worth it even if I end up unemployed, alone, homeless, regretful.
On the one hand I have the current situation and on the other hand the uncertainty of starting a new life thousands of miles away. Maybe I should just give everything up and become a personal trainer or something (I’m sure that will give me fulfillment).
Anyway, on Saturday afternoon I go to the gym and then head to town where something called London Pride is taking place. For London Pride I meet up with Brendan and some of his friends and we go find Scott who’s working in Soho.
London Pride just involves thousands of people walking around, drinking, playing, etc. It’s not bad. Here are some pictures from Saturday afternoon:
Brendan in promotional t-shirt he’s forced to wear by Scott:
At home I arrange to have a chilled out Saturday evening, which involves going over to Mean’s house, watching TV and eating ice creams. Ice creams is a word that should never be mentioned in the singular form, because you should always have more than one.
So I have dinner at my house and then I leave my house and after 30 seconds that it takes me to walk to the tube station I check my pocket and I realize I’ve dropped my card wallet somewhere.
My card wallet contains: my tube season ticket card (worth £968), my gym card, my Maestro card that I always use instead of cash, a picture ID of me, an Alcohol & Drugs Helpline card that I always carry around as a joke. In addition, my card wallet is from ___ and it costs £90.
Then I walk back, and it seems that in the total of 85 seconds that my wallet has been lying on the ground somewhere in this touristy West London suburb, it has been found, it has been picked up, and I’ll never see it again.
I’m not blaming anyone mind you, I would have done the same, I’m just amazed by the speed that it all happened.
The rest of the evening is great fun: I call up Mean and tell him I’m not coming anymore, I call up banks and the London Underground and cancel my cards, I walk over to Tesco and buy a 500ml Haagen Dazs cookies and cream tub to make myself feel better. It works.