The weekend that was…
The Heartbreaker, The Home Wrecker and The Failed Dealer.
I rushed home on Saturday, very excited about the prospect of two parties and the second outing to Final Destination. I had been looking forward to the parties all week and this should have been a sign. I had also decided to supplement my income with a bit of low risk dealing and has lots of naughty stuff on me for resale. Matthew and Richard’s bash was great and I got to chat with Trevor and Steve, what sweet guy’s. Adrian collected me at about 9pm and after a few stiff vodkas for the soul we jumped into a cab heading for Bethnal Green. There were four of us in the posse’, Myself, alone because Wayne is away, Adrian , sort of married, but Richard was ill in bed (I think they had a bit of a tiff), Cliff, married but Rob his B/F was not at all well and Steve, married but Martin was working, we were going to have a real lads night out and had planned to tell everyone that our partners were at a passive party discussing bottom things.
Adrian was in a mood because Richard didn’t want him to go out. The taxi man had the heater on and the radio on “radio crappo”, oh! and the windows didn’t open. Needless to say it was hot as hell and everyone got very tense and just a bit snappy.
We arrived at the party and it was great to see Chris and Martin, they have a lovely place. Adrian discovered half an hour after we arrived that he had left his mobile in the taxi, so we phoned it a lot and finally the driver answered it. £20.00 later and an hour of waiting and the phone was returned.
Just as I was enjoying the party, the posse’ of merry men decided it was time to move on, we left the party and headed for Crash, he party died soon afterward after the host threw a mood because half of us left, not surprising as we are the life and soul of any occasion.
Now I hate Crash, but was happy as I would be able to move all the class A I had tucked away in my Calvin’s. After two awful hours I had made £5.00 profit on one item and we were off to Final Destination with me licking my wounds because I had failed at being a dealer.
We arrived early and had some sweet hot tea and attempted to eat at the drive through Mac Donald’s. At which stage the bag containing my appro stock split, and the four of us scrambled around trying to find 40 pills in the dark.
Final Destination was wonderful, or it would have been if anyone was there. The music was pumping and the guys have the whole mix perfect. I was very sad that nobody had made the effort to go, still about fourteen on us boogied for about two hours before piling into Trevor and Steve’s, not very big car, heading for Trade.
We arrived very up for more of a party, but Cliff was very unhappy about going into Trade, so after a half hour discussion, we headed back to Brixton to look after Rob, who was at home ill. Or so we thought, on arrival, we discovered an empty house. Rob had decided to take himself off as he was not in the mood for four boisterous boys leaping around being silly. We thought he was really angry and things got blown out of all proportion. It was not a great evening.
I snoozed for a few hours and then headed off to the Vauxhall, Edna was great and I had a little weep when she sang the Dusty Springfield song because I was missing Wayne a bit.
Now you can’t fault the Vauxhall, nothing ever goes wrong and nobody ever gets cross and I danced the night away, with all my friends, happy as a sand boy.
Never get over-excited about the weekend’s activities because you are bound to be disappointed