Friday, 11 April 2008


I hate it when I'm late for things. This morning I was off gallivanting in Marylebone (which I realised I have never pronounced right til now since my cousin corrected me). I thought I gave myself enough time to get home and shower etc. before my VERY IMPORTANT tutorial and subject choice briefings for third year(ick!) but I messed up the times and missed my tutorial. And my lecturer is a feisty Jamaican woman. Mumbled something profusely about being in Heathrow to pick up a family member and delayed flights hence absence. Something to that effect.

And then I did it again this evening, coming 40 minutes late to meet my cousin Becks at Wagamama in Putney. AGAIN, SORRY! I know she's reading this because I just got back from Walkabout with her and told her to expect a post on this worrying piano man we encountered there. P.S. Is it sad that on the bus on the way to Wagamama I texted her and told her straight off what I wanted from the menu already? I haunt that joint. I'm just glad my regular waitress wasn't on shift this evening because that means she would've seen me there twice in a space of 3 days.

Who knew Walkabout had a piano man? We were able to request songs and have him play them. Becks and I sat snug in a corner with a couple of Malibu and pineapple mixes, putting song like 'Chopsticks' and 'Nature Boy' on the list. He fiddled around with Nature Boy for a bit then said 'That's a hard one'. And well Chopsticks...? Suffice to say, none of our songs got played.

That man was either catering to the Chav-tastic likings of the Thursday night Walkabout crowd or we were witnessing his very descent into something lower than low. He was quite funny in the beginning until it was dawning on us that he wasn't going to stop being pathetic and that that's what he really was. He knew a little less than half the words to each song (songs from people like George Michael, Dire Straits and Billy Joel), and frequently replaced the lyrics with crude remarks or bursts of laughter. It was all 'fuck this' and 'fuck that' and 'fuck off you big dicked man in the corner' and 'duh duh duh duh daaa, don't remember the fuckin' words'. He apologised for his ability to be EVERYTHING BUT a talented musician more than he sang, the whole while looking at the two of us. My cousin and I were really worried. He was definitely on something. If not, he's going to go home and kill himself tonight. I wonder what his daytime life is like? Wonder how much he gets paid for saying things like:

'this next song is one of those songs where you find a picture in your house of someone you loved whose just died and you don't know whether to cry or just masturbate to it'
For the record, the song was 'Father and Son', and after that, Becks gave me the most frantic look and said 'Drink up. We're leaving.'

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