oh what fools you were to eschew our company on this night of nights.. the others can so easily confirm my story whensoever they should choose to. oh, but that you should have been part of our motley crew. what a night! what goings on .
but perhaps i should start at the beginning, the begining of my own story at least..
Some years ago – never mind how long precisely – having little or no money in my purse..
no that’s a tale for another time, let me begin again
to begin at the beginning; it is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black..
okay, okay, okay… so that isn’t our story either.. but would you ever believe me i came straight out and claimed this was the best book group ever? I doubt it. Even when you clock the o’clock at which i’m writing this, you are likely to be suspicious and cautious of the story i am spinning here.
We gathered south of the river in the wings of a festive hall, and though we were not in the dressing rooms, we had a feeling of being behind the scenes. (or, at least, behind bulky but unconvincing caryatid’s) We spent some time assessing each others trustworthiness but the passing of time was accompanied by the imbibing of alcohol (not alas Champagne) and very quickly we were firm friends.
Agreement about the tone, tenor and timbre of the work arrived quite naturally and it was almost as if, lacking substance to disagree about, we moved quickly beyond it’s bounds so as to be able to re-assert our individuality.
Which we did for a while and (former galactic president) Lysistrata did more than most by being strong willed enough to actually leave.. the rest of this merrie band were seduced by my siren calls and followed me into the fabled east end…
and here the cronology of our story breaks down somewhat, because CityDreams by bike was able to beat PieEye, Zora and I and our tube across town. (Perhaps, his styling should have given away his wilder skills? I still want to know how he did it.)
Once one arrives in east london, one cannot know what will likely to happen and so it was.. we arrived, we drank, we leaned close to speak because sound travels but a short way when competing with both drums and bass. (Actually that is poetic licence, but you weren’t there so you may not draw me up) WE may or may not have seen Andy Wetherall (a shaman if ere there was one) and we may or may not have had too much to imbibe (or impurify ourselves besides.)
All I can say for certain is that I am in a place that looks a lot like my home and it is long time past my ideal bedtime, but that i would not have it any other way.