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Mark
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 643
Rather inspired by Murakami's "First Person Singular" and so I'll take the time to tell you about Mark.
Now Mark was an odd one, I met him via a friend who I squatted with briefly. Tall - 6'3" or 6'4", with a long black braided ponytail that hung to his waist, square chin, dark swart features, clothing to match, fashionable trench coat and knee-high leather boots.
I'm 21 and in London and to go for a walk with Mark was to be the wingman - and I'm not particularly used to being the second fiddle, but it was apparent as the ladies visibly swooned when we passed that it wasn't over me.
If you imagined the best version of Heathcliff from "Wuthering Heights", or the "hot" English Seducer in a Penny Dreadful, it would be Mark.
Mark was Australian, from somewhere small town in the bush, he didn't like to talk about his family or his childhood. He didn't like or get along with his father. He worked as a waiter in "Le Pelican" down in the West End. Fancy. His interests were largely occult, he claimed to be in constant communion with the dead, and so we had a few lively conversations around what that must have been like, first impressions in London and all, especially considering how the dead so outnumber the living.
A curious thing, he had married - on paper, for immigration reasons - this friend from Australia with dual citizenship. She had a young child - 2 or 3, not his. I think her name was Leona. And they lived together - as man and wife in most regards, except for the most intimate, which he passed on because he was currently involved with Kate Bush. It was an Astral Relationship, they never met in person, but at night when they were dreaming...well, spicy, spicy. It would stay on the Astral Plane because she didn't want to mess up her successful recording career with rumors and everything.
They lived with me for a time, in the squat, it got pretty tiresome, Mark & his Wizardry, the child, an undisciplined mess, and his wife constantly on the prowl for some sort of satisfaction...
After he moved out I didn't hear of him for a few years, then word came he was working as a model, in such and such avant-garde film, he was dating so-and-so supermodel.
I never doubted it, he was a larger than life figure, and his dating - I suspect, as with a lot of larger-than-life people, was sexless, he, despite his superstar good looks seemed oblivious to that aspect of his being...
I'd be curious to know where he is now...
Nick
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 662
When I was 21 I lived in a squat in London. During that time I had a few roommates, not because I'm social but because an untenanted squat can quickly become somebody else's squat. So it makes sense to have roommates, especially those that are home when you aren't.
One of the more memorable ones was Nick. He was a properly middle class Englishman, from some village outside of London. Nick worked at Harrods in London, one of London's posher tourist attractions.
Now Nick, nothing to look at, really, a florid and spotty complexion, thinning blonde hair, but a ladies man after a sort. He had stories, like the time at Christmas Mass when he took the vicars daughter into the cemetery and squired her. Or another time when he went out with his manager at Harrods, got so drunk that when they went back to her place she gave him her bed and slept on the sofa. And he was so hammered that he tells me he remembers, very distinctly getting up in the night, going to the sofa and pissing all over her.
She never brought it up. Mind you, they never went on another date.
Now Nick, when I met him, he'd worked at Harrods for a couple of years. He was sort of a Jack of All Departments, he'd get assigned to one department, maybe linen or furniture or Men's Clothes or ties, and often it wouldn't be that busy so they'd send him off to another department. And Nick would just come home. Back to Camden Town. As soon as they transferred him he was off, he'd grab his lunch and come home.
The next day, if anyone asked (and it was rare that anyone ever did) he would simply put himself in the department opposite the inquisitor. It was that easy. "No, I was in furniture, but I got transferred to..." and that was the end of it.
Snow days, in London a half inch of snow meant you'd get double time if you made it into work, transit being out and all, he'd take it off and then the next day clock himself in for it, say he'd worked in another department.
It helped that Nick was pretty easy going, a very likeable sort of guy. And a spiffy dresser, Harrods didn't pay THAT good, but it gave him a discount on the higher end clothing.
In the end it was his very likeability that proved his downfall. They ended up making him manager of the "Paul Smith" shop in Harrods, a small raise but a role that required him to visibly do his full eight hours a day.
Jr's Election
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 654
The Election - results, Jr. lost, came in 3rd out of 4, but the bottom 2 candidates together didn't get half the votes of the next candidate up the rung. Narrow margins between 1 and 2, and 3 and 4, and effectually all his campaigning did was split the liberal vote, if they hadn't run the area would have elected a more liberal candidate, but as it was 3 liberal candidates split the vote so that a single Conservative could win.
He spent a lot of time and money under the delusion that he could win this. He didn't, and his running proved a big loss for everybody. Those few votes he got would have put #2 firmly in the lead.
He would never consider that maybe for the good of the community he should step down and throw his weight behind a more viable candidate. Which goes a long ways to explaining why perhaps a career in Public Service isn't for him.
Now he's faced with the awful reality of having to get a job...something he's so far spent his entire life successfully avoiding.
Sundays are the worst
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 808
Sundays are the worst Wake up, hit the café, but you can only drink so much coffee. There's the heat of the afternoon, find a bench, enjoy the sunlight, follow the sun from bench to bench, lie down, nap, listen to the fading of conversations passing by, invariably trivial things that really don't need to be spoken about, certainly not out loud. Move on, find another bench, read a book, by 4:30, 5;00 it's starting to get cool, then by 6:00 it's time for a sweater. And the sun goes down and there's little to do, spend money in a bar, restaurant, but all this spending money, it's unsustainable. And these days off, October, it's crazy to see how on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon the streets are empty, where is everyone? Sunday, no library to hide out in, nowhere, really, and the weather, for a few hours OK, then too cool and even that will soon be over.
I need a place, and soon...
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