johnny9fingers (
johnny9fingers) wrote2019-09-10 08:42 am
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Old friends.
I met up with e_compass_rosa from LiveJournal yesterday as she was in London for a couple of days. We had spoken on the phone last over a decade ago, but we seemed to pick up the conversation where we left off, which is always amusing.
Anyway, I had a simply delightful day and evening. Drank too much, obviously. Talked far too much, also obviously. We wandered around a few bits of London and ended up pottering about my old haunts in Soho where I pointed out all the places that used to have musical significance, doing my Rock 'n' Roll historian routine. And the shock of change was brought upon me. Crossrail has brought a hammer down on Denmark Street. I can't even place where Battistas was (on the opposite corner to Denmark Street) as the buildings have changed as if leftovers from the Doctor Strange special effects units had somehow bled onto the Charing Cross Road.
And the Gay Hussar is gone. I was going to take Madame there to eat, and talk about Soho's history, and the mix of politics, music, prostitution, and "drugula" activities which all had their London home in Soho. Instead we found a pub and I got questioned on Brexit, which immediately caused me to weep into my beer and tear my hair out in large chunks. Madame consoled me by buying supper; she's a sensitive lass. We wittered on about anger management, education, families and stuff until it was time to go home.
I had a lovely day out and I can really appreciate the changes London is going through; well you can't avoid noticing them really.
So while the mother of all parliaments was prorogued in "an act of executive fiat" and Bojo was losing his sixth vote in succession, which is why the prorogation happened no doubt, I was enjoying myself in good company. I too can fiddle while Rome burns.
Anyway, I had a simply delightful day and evening. Drank too much, obviously. Talked far too much, also obviously. We wandered around a few bits of London and ended up pottering about my old haunts in Soho where I pointed out all the places that used to have musical significance, doing my Rock 'n' Roll historian routine. And the shock of change was brought upon me. Crossrail has brought a hammer down on Denmark Street. I can't even place where Battistas was (on the opposite corner to Denmark Street) as the buildings have changed as if leftovers from the Doctor Strange special effects units had somehow bled onto the Charing Cross Road.
And the Gay Hussar is gone. I was going to take Madame there to eat, and talk about Soho's history, and the mix of politics, music, prostitution, and "drugula" activities which all had their London home in Soho. Instead we found a pub and I got questioned on Brexit, which immediately caused me to weep into my beer and tear my hair out in large chunks. Madame consoled me by buying supper; she's a sensitive lass. We wittered on about anger management, education, families and stuff until it was time to go home.
I had a lovely day out and I can really appreciate the changes London is going through; well you can't avoid noticing them really.
So while the mother of all parliaments was prorogued in "an act of executive fiat" and Bojo was losing his sixth vote in succession, which is why the prorogation happened no doubt, I was enjoying myself in good company. I too can fiddle while Rome burns.
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We did the LJ old chums routine, including an old chum called Grady Johnson, who is a musician chum of mine who now lives in France.
I must admit we did spend a significant amount of time talking about how old we seem to have gotten all of a sudden. We didn't actually go as far as the hip replacement or weak pelvic floor conversations; no doubt I shall be having those chats with folk at a later date.
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We didn't actually go as far as the hip replacement or weak pelvic floor conversations
You've got so much to look forward to! 😀
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I'd love to collect the definitive book of Rock 'n' Roll stories; an indexed and cross-referenced music biz version of Hollywood Babylon.
Chapters with headings like "Where the bodies are buried" and "And the award for largest amount of various drugs consumed and recovered from goes to...?" or maybe "The list of all the male rockstars who slept with underage groupies along with the groupies' ages at the time..."
You can see how most folk would want to take the stories to their graves with them. But even so the stories ought to be told and not left to the editorial whims of the last man left standing.
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