The Voice of London Episode V
The time is 4:00 and I am in London. I came in to look at some prospective places for rental. Right now I am in a bar called Rowley's having a pint of Carling. When I'm done here I'll be going down the street for my first appointment. I saw the posting for it last night and made a call from a payphone after arriving in the city to inquire about it. It is a room share with two girls. Their post indicated that they were considering male roommates but I suspect they would prefer a female. That's working against me, but I hope I can convince them of my suitability because the location of the place is perfect. It's actually within walking distance of the British Museum and the British Library. The rent is a bit high (£230 per month plus bills), but for such a great location it would be more than worth it. I don't imagine they'll be making their decision immediately though, so after I'm done there I'll be going to check out a another place in Croydon. The location isn't ideal but the rent is better: £45 per week, bills included. Hopefully one of the two places will work out. I'm not sure what I'm going to do this evening. I didn't book myself a bed at a hostel or anything. My train leaves for Norwich tomorrow at 4:30. My plan was basically to stay awake until then but I don't know what I'm going to do to pass the time. I'll probably take in a movie at some point, but that will only take up a couple hours and probably won't carry me to later than midnight or so. Well, it'll be an adventure.
I met Stella (one of the girls I'd be sharing a room with) and she showed me the flat. It's awesome. There's a nice big kitchen. At least, it's big compared to the last kitchen I had. They have a small, but comfortable looking lounge (aka living room) and a bathroom with a shower (an important feature). Stella seems very nice, and I don't doubt that Genie (the other girl sharing the room) is too. Apparently there are two other girls that share another room in the flat. I imagine it would take some adjustment to go from never having lived with a girl (since moving out of my parents' and not counting the time staying with aunts) to living with four, but after being surrounded by testosterone for five years a little estrogen might be a good thing. It definitely seems better than the alternative. It took a half hour train ride to get out to my other prospect. I'm guessing Angela and Louis, the people I contacted about the place, are the owners. They're from Brazil and, while they are certainly friendly and welcoming, they're older than me by about ten years at least, as are most of the other residents it seems. Their place is a fair bit smaller (per person anyway) and just flat out does not make me as enthusiastic as the other option. The only real advantage is that they actually offered me the spot, so I'm basically guaranteed a place if I want it. I really hope I don't have to settle.
I'm sitting at Westminster Pier looking out across the River Thames at the London Eye. A little while ago I got out from seeing The Queen. It was the only movie playing at midnight that I had any interest in seeing. Speaking of movies and seeing, guess who I saw this evening. That's right. Billy Zane. He was coming out of a screening of Stranger Than Fiction at the BFI London Film Festival. I was wandering around Piccadilly Circus and started making my way towards the square with all the cinemas when I saw a crowd gathered outside the Odeon West End. Not having anything better to do I decided to join the crowd. I gathered fairly quickly that they were waiting for celebrities exiting the screening but I had no idea who they were expecting. I overheard a rumour that Dustin Hoffman was in attendance. This piqued my interest and I decided to stick around. I'm not sure exactly how much time passed. It wasn't terribly long but some people did get impatient and left. I hung in there, though I did put my camera away after a while. I'm not horribly disappointed that I did. It would have been worth getting a shot of the star of Straw Dogs and Rain Man. I'm satisfied with the memory of glimpsing the star of The Phantom and Dead Calm. So there's a couple more hours before the Underground opens again. I guess I'll wander around London some more.
I wandered for about an hour and a half and I'm back at the pier. I figure this is a good enough place to wait for the morning. The benches are relatively comfortable and it seems like it'll be a good place to watch the dawn. The parliament buildings are off to my right and the aquarium is directly across the river. When I was walking through Westminster I passed by the very same bus stop outside the Sherlock Holmes pub where I waited three years ago and read Keep the Aspidistra Flying. While wandering I found no fewer than five full, unbroken cigarettes on the ground. One I found then gave to some guy who asked if I had an extra cigarette. The other four I found together and haven't been asked for another cigarette yet.
It's twenty to ten now. I'm at a restaurant in Liverpool Street Station having breakfast and I am fucking exhausted. I'm not really regretting the whole staying up all night because I don't have a place to stay, but I do really wish I had purchased an earlier return ticket so I wouldn't have to wait another six and a half hours for my train. I'm too tired to go out and do anything. All I want to do is sleep. There aren't even any good benches I could take a nap on. And even if there were, it's chilly enough to make falling asleep difficult. I absolutely cannot wait to get on the train and sleep. And then get home and sleep some more.
I probably won't be able to walk properly for about a week after this. I don't know how many miles I've walked in the last thirty hours, but I'm sure it's a lot. My hip joints hurt. The real problem is that I have to keep walking. If I sit for too long not doing anything I start nodding off which, though I desperately want to do it, just isn't practical right now. There's less than two hours left in this hellish countdown so it's feeling more and more manageable. I was thinking a good name for a band would be the Cripplefoot Pigeons. Or just Cripplefoot Pigeons. Or Cripplefoot something else. It came to me when I noticed that many of the pigeons hanging around the station have deformed or damaged feet. Several of them stand on one foot when they are not walking around. Anyway, I thought of the word Cripplefoot and it had a nice ring to it. I guess you could call a band Cripplefoot, but I prefer the word as an adjective.
I think the sleep deprivation broke my brain. At least temporarily. About an hour into the train ride home I was awoken by some other people in the car playing some sort of trivia game. Whenever they asked a question I felt compelled to think of the answer but the only thought that would enter my head was a kind of strange, crumpled notion. It was like mental vomit. It actually felt like my mind was throwing up. I had to say a repetitive phrase in my head over and over to keep from having this distressing, compulsive thought. Anyway, that was one of the stranger experiences of my life and not one I'd particularly care to repeat. I hope the slowly increasing frequency (and length) of these emails isn't outstripping the pace at which people are able to read them. Wait. No. I don't care if they're doing that. I'll send the next one as soon as I want. Cheers.
Epithelially yours,
Matthew Hawkins
I met Stella (one of the girls I'd be sharing a room with) and she showed me the flat. It's awesome. There's a nice big kitchen. At least, it's big compared to the last kitchen I had. They have a small, but comfortable looking lounge (aka living room) and a bathroom with a shower (an important feature). Stella seems very nice, and I don't doubt that Genie (the other girl sharing the room) is too. Apparently there are two other girls that share another room in the flat. I imagine it would take some adjustment to go from never having lived with a girl (since moving out of my parents' and not counting the time staying with aunts) to living with four, but after being surrounded by testosterone for five years a little estrogen might be a good thing. It definitely seems better than the alternative. It took a half hour train ride to get out to my other prospect. I'm guessing Angela and Louis, the people I contacted about the place, are the owners. They're from Brazil and, while they are certainly friendly and welcoming, they're older than me by about ten years at least, as are most of the other residents it seems. Their place is a fair bit smaller (per person anyway) and just flat out does not make me as enthusiastic as the other option. The only real advantage is that they actually offered me the spot, so I'm basically guaranteed a place if I want it. I really hope I don't have to settle.
I'm sitting at Westminster Pier looking out across the River Thames at the London Eye. A little while ago I got out from seeing The Queen. It was the only movie playing at midnight that I had any interest in seeing. Speaking of movies and seeing, guess who I saw this evening. That's right. Billy Zane. He was coming out of a screening of Stranger Than Fiction at the BFI London Film Festival. I was wandering around Piccadilly Circus and started making my way towards the square with all the cinemas when I saw a crowd gathered outside the Odeon West End. Not having anything better to do I decided to join the crowd. I gathered fairly quickly that they were waiting for celebrities exiting the screening but I had no idea who they were expecting. I overheard a rumour that Dustin Hoffman was in attendance. This piqued my interest and I decided to stick around. I'm not sure exactly how much time passed. It wasn't terribly long but some people did get impatient and left. I hung in there, though I did put my camera away after a while. I'm not horribly disappointed that I did. It would have been worth getting a shot of the star of Straw Dogs and Rain Man. I'm satisfied with the memory of glimpsing the star of The Phantom and Dead Calm. So there's a couple more hours before the Underground opens again. I guess I'll wander around London some more.
I wandered for about an hour and a half and I'm back at the pier. I figure this is a good enough place to wait for the morning. The benches are relatively comfortable and it seems like it'll be a good place to watch the dawn. The parliament buildings are off to my right and the aquarium is directly across the river. When I was walking through Westminster I passed by the very same bus stop outside the Sherlock Holmes pub where I waited three years ago and read Keep the Aspidistra Flying. While wandering I found no fewer than five full, unbroken cigarettes on the ground. One I found then gave to some guy who asked if I had an extra cigarette. The other four I found together and haven't been asked for another cigarette yet.
It's twenty to ten now. I'm at a restaurant in Liverpool Street Station having breakfast and I am fucking exhausted. I'm not really regretting the whole staying up all night because I don't have a place to stay, but I do really wish I had purchased an earlier return ticket so I wouldn't have to wait another six and a half hours for my train. I'm too tired to go out and do anything. All I want to do is sleep. There aren't even any good benches I could take a nap on. And even if there were, it's chilly enough to make falling asleep difficult. I absolutely cannot wait to get on the train and sleep. And then get home and sleep some more.
I probably won't be able to walk properly for about a week after this. I don't know how many miles I've walked in the last thirty hours, but I'm sure it's a lot. My hip joints hurt. The real problem is that I have to keep walking. If I sit for too long not doing anything I start nodding off which, though I desperately want to do it, just isn't practical right now. There's less than two hours left in this hellish countdown so it's feeling more and more manageable. I was thinking a good name for a band would be the Cripplefoot Pigeons. Or just Cripplefoot Pigeons. Or Cripplefoot something else. It came to me when I noticed that many of the pigeons hanging around the station have deformed or damaged feet. Several of them stand on one foot when they are not walking around. Anyway, I thought of the word Cripplefoot and it had a nice ring to it. I guess you could call a band Cripplefoot, but I prefer the word as an adjective.
I think the sleep deprivation broke my brain. At least temporarily. About an hour into the train ride home I was awoken by some other people in the car playing some sort of trivia game. Whenever they asked a question I felt compelled to think of the answer but the only thought that would enter my head was a kind of strange, crumpled notion. It was like mental vomit. It actually felt like my mind was throwing up. I had to say a repetitive phrase in my head over and over to keep from having this distressing, compulsive thought. Anyway, that was one of the stranger experiences of my life and not one I'd particularly care to repeat. I hope the slowly increasing frequency (and length) of these emails isn't outstripping the pace at which people are able to read them. Wait. No. I don't care if they're doing that. I'll send the next one as soon as I want. Cheers.
Epithelially yours,
Matthew Hawkins
posted by Ad Hawk at
9:51 AM
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