Sure, it has the strange effect of making most people a little cheerier, and making most girls wear a little less, but I’ve never been an advocate of the sun. Okay, so you’ll all be rolling your eyes and putting this down to my old vampiric tendencies, but it’s not that simple. Take this irritating heat we’ve been having. That’s the sun’s fault. You wouldn’t find this in winter.
Actually it’s difficult for me to pick a favourite season. I think it’s probably winter, especially when I’m single. The empty trees and beautiful snow-covered landscapes are great of course, and look so fragile. Sure it’s cold but the cold makes me feel much more alive; it’s sharp and keeps you alert and that little sting of almost-but-not-quite-pain is the perfect reminder that you’re real. And is anything more comforting than stepping out of the freezing cold into a warm house and stripping away the extra layers of clothing. Plus I get to wear more in the winter, which I actually prefer. I miss my trenchcoat, I really do. Of course, the most useful thing about winter is the extra pockets.
Now, if I wasn’t single, perhaps I’d prefer Spring. Not the height of summer, where your clothes become drenched in more liquid than clothing, sticking clammily against your skin so that you literally have to peel them off. Spring lets you spend time lazying around outside without unbearable heat. It throws a little colour back into life. It’s great if you’re with someone, although all that healthy rebirth occassionally feels like nature is just mocking you if you’re not!
SCENARIO EXHIBIT #1:
My other gripe against the sun is that it makes you sleepy. This week I was in Croydon with a friend, spending a great afternoon lounging around in the park. With the sun bearing down on us, we eventually dozed off. Next thing I know, I’m being woken up by a kindly asian guy who says he saw a women near us and we should check our stuff. Sure enough my phone had disappeared…
Sun = Bad.
The prosecution rests, your honour.
It’s been a quiet month, that’s for certain. Having been reliably informed by my agency that there’s no work in Croydon (although they’re still hopeful that something will turn up in August) I’ve been stuck around the house for most of the time, while various friends wander off on their various holidays. It seemed for a while that all of Croydon must have gone to Zante (which doesn’t say much about Zante, at least for those two weeks). Having disappeared for months to the States, however, my friends were quick to inform me that I was in no position to complain.
While perhaps not gushing quite so much as the Old Palace girls themselves, I was rather looking forward to this evening. Unlike a number of guys, I actually rather like dressing up, and having shelled out so much for the suit, I was determined to get my money’s worth! I was accompanying a rather nervous Lily who was beautifully turned out in a pale blue dress with translucent sleeves.
Arriving fairly punctually at the Purley Aerodrome Hotel, we spent a long while congregating in the foyer, greeting everyone as they arrived. Naturally I had seen most of them for at least a few months, so it was to get a brief “hello” in before things kicked off and we were all separated again. It got a little cramped, to tell the truth, but we eventually moved into the main hall which was far more spacious. The bar was well stocked with a range of whiskies, Dalmore being my chosen accompaniment for the evening (one of those cases where it actually might have been cheaper to buy the bottle, though it’s nice when you’re drinking something unique so the bar staff remember your order without having to be told), and was open much later than at the Whitgift Ball. A number of ex and current Whitgiftians were present, so it was nice to chat to a few of them about gap year experiences and such like, particularly the ones to whom I would not usually get to speak.
After an elegant start with Mark playing piano, things deteriorated rather drastically music-wise as some DJ’s arrived and span their discs or whatever it is you young people call it these days. At any rate the young ladies seemed to love it, but I decided to get a refill on that drink and retire to the foyer along with many of the other guys. Conversation was good although the hazy smoke offered by the cigarettes was more irritating than ambient. Nonetheless, bow-tie undone, glass of whisky in one hand, I did feel a Frankie vibe coming on. If only they were playing some decent jazz instead of that…crap. I felt particularly sorry for Friya’s Chris who doesn’t drink. Not the healthiest life choice, and to be honest I’ve never really trusted teetotallers: they always remember the next morning what was said the night before. And that’s just unnatural!
The girls all looked fantastic, of course, and it was nice to see them that way as I imagine it may be the last time I get to see a few of them. So at least I get to remember them at their best and, I hope, vice versa. A very successful evening, so well done to Ally and everyone who organised it!