Hunting for Thompson

It’s a Sunday, my new favourite day. I’ve never been a religious type, though I know many, and my family never did the whole Sunday dinner thing. But Sunday is fast becoming the pinnacle of my week for reasons that will become clearer later. Why the pause in stream of thought? Within seconds of starting this post I have been reminded of the early days of my family, before we became all fractured and for want of a better word ‘Fucked’. I’m sure this is the case for most of us. I’m also pretty certain that each of us believes some things happen in their families, just some particular quirks that are unique to that time and place. These are the things you’ve got to remember, for good or bad. There was a time when the Cox household met around a table, usually at around six, and all manner of hell would break loose. Mom had cooked, Dad had stewed in work (God help those kids, I’m sure were all familiar with those characters, they probably account for 40% of the murderers in this country). The usual course for proceedings is that there would be a horrific story batted around about some such event involving a standoff or torture and then the policing would ensue. It was an important part of daily life that my little brother (now worryingly 6’ 2”) was disciplined. This meant a dishing out of the sternum screw or similar agonisingly uncomfortable medieval torture techniques deployed by my father, the executioner, me the bailiff and my mother the widow. Good all-English fun: All a valid part of my upbringing and a testament as to how to raise a functional family.


But oh joy oh joy as Stimpy would put It, It’s is finally Sunday. The fairest of all days. Why? Because It’s probably the only day of the week I’m not stressed, not too hung-over and not to drunk: Refreshing after the throes of a week in architecture. Usually I’m either scuttling off to Sam’s without being noticed or trying to navigate my way just passed Brick Lane without being bombarded with the grotesque and the ‘all that is wrong with society today’ folk who tend to gravitate from the distant quagmires of Greater London and insist on displaying themselves in all their indecency and depravity to the likes of others, namely me, as seemingly the only person other than my girlfriend who is openly horrified by the company we find ourselves in whilst exploring the local area. Don’t get me wrong I know my peers get a regular and much needed flogging in the press and I for one would take great pleasure in battering the emaciated buttocks of the walking dead, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I almost combusted with rage the other day whilst pissing my time away in some godforsaken hole down the lane. Christ I thought, Is my prostate deceiving me? Or have I actually shat myself with contempt as I caught site of a ghoulish mannequin parked in the middle of the road, rigour mortise comfortably settling in, waiting, just waiting to be marvelled, snapped and probably bungled into the back of some tweed wearing perverts VW parked round the corner and molested perfectly in time to the grinding thump of a dub step beat. At least that would have been a prettier sight than she. Fuck me people can amaze me in this area. I’m not immune. Its bloody easy to sit here in my pricey flat, quiff my new haircut every morning and try and distance myself from these swine but I’m sure somewhere along the way it will all come back to fuck me sideways and ill cry into my silk neckerchief at what a bloody hypocrite I am, but at least it was fun. And the only things left bleeding in my wake are the few eardrums as I’ve ranted into you over the last few minutes. Thank god it’s Sunday and you can sleep it off.
Ignore me at all cost!


We did find a little treasure today that practically ‘made the day’ for me. A little shop by a name so shit it’s not worth repeating with the weirdest selection of literature I’ve ever butchered and keen prices to! It’s on Bethnal green road and at first sight you will probably vomit over the threshold and take the owner hostage in return for your lost lunch, but once inside its ‘kinda cool, man’. He’s decked the place out in all manner of relics from a time when writing hurt....no not the soul you fuck! The bones! My god I think I’d top myself if the only way for me to get a good night’s sleep was to type my inner demons onto a sheet of pulp until my knuckles swelled. But it’s all here, all the horror of it, in one room. You have the devices that wrote the shit, laughing in your face as you browse the many semi-pornographic pulp novellas at your disposal. You ponder “Which would provide a much needed getaway in my 60min lunch break?” Luckily its almost all Sci-Fi so It’s perfect. You won’t have to learn anything, there’s the possibility of a stiffy or two (apologies for making you squirm) and whallah, 60mins wasted. Brilliant!


There was a reason for our return to the shop. In pursuit of a hotly anticipated book I’ve been meaning to read for the past year. But wait there’s more.......
We had ventured into the shop the previous day. We were in a rush and to the amazement of the owner I bundled us out of the door again within seconds of entering, quilted to the bone by the fact I was costing my girlfriend a job a minute (long story) but also just to fuck with his mind. I gave him the old ‘we’ll come back tomorrow’ lark that, after hearing it for the 100th time that rainy day must have given him a stroke. The only difference with this particular customer.....I had every intention of keeping my promise! So perverse was the idea that a man should open a shop in the middle of London selling nothing but pulp and rags, I had to give this man a proper looking over and shake his hand. Men of his calibre are hard to come by. Plus Interpol were playing on a continuous loop!


So we returned, he didn’t recognise us for sure, but I smiled anyway, my usual sinister gurn. I was on a quest for some Gonzo to add to my collection and this place has it! Fucking 1st American editions! Great stuff, so I snapped one up and gripped it so tightly it almost caught fire. I wasn’t done with this guy yet, ohhhhhhh no! Time to accost the fucker. Luckily he was lurking by his till/coffee maker (an ingenious contraption). First I slapped him round the face with a cleverly disguised compliment about the music playing (please It’s the only enjoyment I get out of life) then got to work. It soon became clear this guy was connected through a pipe expertly plugged up his arse. He knew his shit! I only had to mention Hell’s Angels (I know I know incredibly mainstream) and we were talking firsts for under £20. Ho Ho. So I swiped one of his pristine business cards (always a sight which brings a tear to my eye, that sends me into a gushing frenzy when I realise they’ve started to yellow...) and promised to email him a confirmation of my interest. So there we have it how a few small events can be spun to seem like the actually matter when in fact it was a load of boring shit.


Other events this week? Don’t get me fucking started or we’ll be here another week. Let me summarise. Gassing a street followed by a major comedown and possible firing. Witnessing a soirée turn into a stomach wrenching hell hole of a rave (fuck you it was....or at least as close as I ever want to get to one). And finally a meal so tasty I could eat it all again right now, which is saying a lot for Bethnal Green Road.
Sorry for boring you, but if I had one recommendation it would be to harass that bugger on my road, go on pay him a visit and steal a book from me!

Chow

It has been a long time hasn’t it.

Well here we are again. Only slightly late for work (16mins, I think that’s pretty good considering this is rush hour, London, wait a minute….. Isn’t it always rush hour in London?). But I manage to make it in every day and I’m still really enjoying it! Sure I’m a bit of a lackey but what more could I want. I get to pour over plans, sections and elevations all day long, picking out problems and correcting things. It bloody architectural forensics which is a good way to learn. Of course it can’t be all I do as I would end up topping myself. There needs to be a balance between work and play and maybe a little more work…. I went back to University the other week to pick up my alumni card. Turns out I can access the Library and some other services now I’ve graduated. Let me tell you this is a great thing! I can read all the journals and books and basically study. I know what you’re thinking,
“There is no way your going to do more studying after work” But to be honest I’m well excited. Anyway enough of that self interested malarkey. I have work to do.

I’m not going to attempt to cover the last month or so as there was a reason I didn’t post anything….stress. I know I don’t know the meaning of the word but RSI and eye-strain took their toll and the last thing I could bring myself to do was post. Needless to say I’ve missed out on a lot. Namely the whole miners thing but you know I’m kind of glad. It means I might not get bored so fast as they insist on repeating and re-hashing it for the next decade (Diana, say no more!) There are no promises as I’d be an arsehole to think I could keep them but I want you to know, my intentions are good. This blog will proceed! As convoluted and agonisingly written as it may be.

Chow….