Grow up. Be more responsible…

Posted: March 18, 2012 in Publishing

Well this post brings two firsts for me, nicely together. This is the first post written and published completely on my smartphone, and the first written while detained in a Police cell. This Thursday coming I am back up to London to ink the film deal and to work out how we are going to do the script, who we work with and our visions for the film. I asked Helen at Cutting Edge Press to book me three nights accommodation. “But the meeting is one afternoon?” The plan was to party till I shit blood. A friend said “You don’t Know anyone in London.”

“I do” I said, “I know Big Rugby Sam.”
“Look, there is a film happening, you need to be responsible now, not drinking with someone called ‘Big Rugby Sam’, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“A person called Big Rugby Sam is exactly the sort of person I want to be drinking with, he has two adjectives in his name for fucks sake, if you can’t trust someone with two adjectives in their name, who can you trust?”

I explained that, I wanted three days, because I wanted to meet some of the folks I’d met on twitter and face book. “That’s not very safe, I think that is a stupid idea.”
“Why is it?” I said “I wont hurt any of them or get them in trouble!”
It was then explained, not dangerous for THEM – for YOU!
I was told I cant go out drinking with people I don’t know… that’s exactly the people I want to drink with! I don’t want to prove to people who already think I’m and asshole that I am. I want to drink with people who think I’m nice. There is only one person I hate when out, and that’s that fucking girl with a camera, taking photographs of you in a club. “Do you want your photo taken?” “I’m in a fucking night club, I’m drinking, trying to convince these scared people here to take me to a titty bar, if I wanted my photo taken I’d have washed and gone to a photo studio!”

I hate those photo girls. Not because they invade your space and try to sell you something. No, it’s because they leave an evidence trail. A chronological photographic illustration, online, for all to see, of how desperately tragic you are. Early evening: pictures of me talking to a girl half my age, she looks frightened but I have backed her into a corner. She has that ‘Save me’ smile. Hours later: the women are older, but still pretty and visibly repulsed by me. It’s late: it is now me who looks frightened, talking to a woman that looks like Susan Boyle, but with an umbilical chord flapping about and fag burns. I’m surprised she doesn’t follow me the whole evening and document what a shit-stain I am. Even to the end of the evening, following me outside  where I’m crying and begging for some drunken skank to watch me masturbate, “You won’t have to touch it”.

Grow up. Be more responsible, I was told. So here I am in a Police cell, mulling over those words. How did I get here? Well, there is no surf and it’s St. Patrick’s day. Bad combo for me. We had been on an all day’er and about to go get a curry. We do have a designated driver of the surf van we are in. Following us, is a convertible BMW, full of botoxy blond wanna be IT girls. They tied to cut is up on a roundabout, then again along the road. At Traffic lights, Matty, the driver suggested someone ‘Moon them’, but as I pointed out, that’s just childish. I suggested Matty  Pull off his jeans, run out there naked from the waist down, flap his cock about and shout “Look at my onions!”. We heckled him, he said no, we bullied him.
So he did, he whipped off his jeans, slid open the door, jumped out and flapped it all about.
Then the lights turned green. There was an empty driver seat and the engine was running… I had to. I jumped in and gassed it. I only drove a short distance up the road and pulled in, but cos of laughing so much, I drove over a bin. So horrified were the convertible girls that they called the police…who happened to be right in the area at the time. By the time a very angry Matty turned up one hand holding his junk, the other covering his hole, so did the Police. I said “It’s because I’m black isn’t it?” To which the Policeman said “You are not Black.” I then said, “You can’t oppress my people!” and he laughed.

I am not sure why, but I said, you will never take me alive and sprinted. I could hear Rich shouting “Run forrest RUN!” I was laughing so much, he caught me. And so here I am. In a Police cell. I have to say, I love the Police. They have a real tough job. Not one has been rude or heavy handed. They have laughed with us, recognised we were just shitting around but they have a job to do. Even letting me get a Pizza delivered here.


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