Remembrance of things pissed/Curse of the Queen Mother   Leave a comment

Well, it’s weird. It’s Wednesday the 10th of April and I haven’t been out or got drunk since that all-dayer at The Portland, which was like March 30th. I was thinking I’m never going to compere again. I think there’s a fine line between being drunk and being…uh, something else. When Matt from CRS came dancing in saying that the Queen Mother was dead about halfway through the day (let’s say after about 4 cans of Stella) I became immediately convinced that this meant that I had make some sort of grand statement about it in the course of my duties as Master Of Ceremonies. It would have been OK if I had been amusing or something, but I was trying to be spontaneous and I was just too pissed, so I ended up being random very slowly. By the end of the gig I was swaying gently (I hope) like a tall building, standing next to the stage watching Right Turn Clyde and staring at Jazz’s biceps thinking “He looks so straight, so healthy…”). Anyway I felt like a right royal cunt the next day, and then the next day the Queen Mum’s curse got me, and I came down with the vicious blue-blood death virus that I’ve had ever since, shivering and sweating and croaking for days on end.

Couple of weeks ago I had this dream where I was walking around some old buildings (was it a school?) with Nelson Mandela and someone else. Then the other person left and it was just Mandela and me. I suddenly got this clear idea of what kind of a sacrifice he had made in his life and got a very sincere urge to thank him for what he had done. I was like: “I just wanted to what a great deal your struggle has meant to those of us who believe in freedom”. Like I was representing all the young, privileged white people in the world or something! Jesus. If it wasn’t so funny I’d be embarrassed.

Spent yesterday morning wandering from chazzer to chazzer in search of one that wasn’t shut as a mark of respect to The Queen Mother. Didn’t she die £4 million in debt or something? And wasn’t that taxpayers money? Or Empire-siphoned booty? And now the usual beneficiaries of The Sally Ann’s efforts (I dunno, hungry little Africans or whatever) have to lose a day’s funds because of some super-rich 101-year old? I know what you’re thinking – he’s just fucked of because the charity shops were shut. Hmm, maybe.

Posted April 11, 2002 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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