Tuesday, 5 April 2011

I Need to Mulletover

What a joke. I was really, really late to meet Sarah, this morning's jogging partner, at the metro and she'd gone by the time I'd got there. I tried to go jogging by myself but with nobody to keep me going I couldn't make myself go further than round the corner. I stood behind some bushes for a bit so that if anybody saw me on my way back they'd think I'd been on a proper run, then walked home in defeat. When I got back I checked my phone and realised I'd only been out for fifteen minutes.

Oh well, at least it made me have a shower. I've not washed my hair since Saturday and it got pretty skanky at Mulletover. Speaking of which...






























They only announced the venue this week so I didn't know what to expect, but I was picturing some sort of carpark/warehouse thing with brick walls and vaulted ceilings. For once, something turned out exactly how I imagined it and Kat said it was the same for her. The space was Great Suffolk Street Warehouse in East London, I gather it's a relatively new venue. I might never have been to the space before, but like I said a few days ago about people being places in spaces, the place I was at on Saturday was the same one I always go to when I'm in London- our little self-contained rave unit in the middle of something bigger.
































































As always I can barely remember any of the music the next day. I've got the memory of a small fish. But Kat sent me the links for some Mulletover-type tracks:





The night was just as good as I expected it to be, but it seemed like we were there for an hour, not six, and the lights were coming up. It was over. We walked out of the darkness as if from a dream and outside the streets were light.

We had to wait until the whole place was empty because one of our number had gone missing. We couldn't find them and somebody realised they had his phone in their pocket. It was a bit grim. We couldn't find a taxi so we walked to Waterloo and got the first train, but I didn't mind the walk. I wanted to stay out as long as possible to try and stop the day from getting me, but you can't hide from Tomorrow in dark tunnels and beats.



































We got back to Ricky's about half seven and five minutes after we got back the Missing Person showed up, thankfully. It's worrying things like that. Can everyone keep themselves safe please?

I got about three hours sleep, then got up at ten am and had time for a cup of tea and a phone chat with my mum. I even watched a bit of Hollyoaks but nobody knows because they were all still asleep. I said my goodbyes but it was different this time. Last time I saw Kat it had only been three weeks since Annie Mac and we knew I would be coming to London for Mulletover in a fortnight. But now... I have no plans to return to London.

The Eurostar journey was fine, except instead of a window there was a bit of plastic next to my seat so I couldn't watch England slipping away from me. Maybe it was for the best. I slept for most of the journey but I kept shouting out in my sleep and waking myself up, as well as the man next to me. When I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat, I could hear the bass from the night before under the roar of the train... it was a bit disconcerting.

I didn't feel sad when I got back to Paris. I got home and went straight to Georgie's for dinner. There was six of us and Georgie had cooked something really lovely and hearty for us all. Out of the window, I watched the end of another day (drinking French wine this time, not the horrible coral pink concoction I made in a glass bowl yesterday that Kat kept spilling everywhere), but no sunset this time because the day had been clouded. Still, that's three sundowns- two in Paris and one in London. I can't believe I was only in London for 24 hours. The only thing that makes me believe it wasn't a dream is the block of Cheddar cheese in my fridge.

I felt like a shadow on Sunday night, the tiredness crept up on me but I only managed to get three hours sleep and I woke up cryng about something in my dream. But it was only the tiredness, I wasn't crying because I was back in France. Nowadays it's not sad coming back to Paris because I have a life here, but I don't know which life to keep hold of. In July should I stay or go? Is my life here in Paris good because I always have a trip home in the pipeline?

I don't know what to do, I don't know what decision is the best one. Paris, London, Liverpool, or Manchester? Hmm. I need to mull it over.

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