Life Journal

London 11/06/1990 Monday

London 11/06/1990 Monday

London 11/06/1990 Monday

Mental hangover day
On Friday Patrick phoned me for us to arrange what to do on the weekend. I arranged for us to meet at the Brazilian squat at 5, on Saturday. Got there on Saturday and chatted to Denise and Robinson. Then Gustavo and some random man arrived. Patrick arrived at 5 and we stayed together until 10pm on Sunday. So we went to the pub with another four Irish friends of his. My Brazilian friends didn’t want to come. After a while the gang of Irish people, living in squats and working in the building industry had been reunited at the pub. Patrick was trying to get everyone to go to Camden. He got up, said he’d be back in 20 minutes, called me, told everyone he was going to get some hash. We spent about an hour in the flats, going from flat to flat. We went to his, to get money, then to another flat to buy hash, then to another flat for a chat, then to Frank’s squat to watch tv. The whole of the 10th floor is squatted. We stopped at Patrick’s flat and smoked until 4. We never made it to Camden. Until 2 am we didn’t have a moment’s peace. Every five minutes someone would come in, for no reason. It seemed like it was on purpose. Eventually everyone went to sleep. Even with all the interruptions we were touching each other, staring at each other, kissing, from 7 (when we got back from the pub) until 4.

He put some amazing music on… First that trippy reggae he was playing when we first met. Then some classical music. Shit then I can’t remember. Then some punk music and I fell asleep. We took a 15 minute nap and one of his friends came home. They talked for a bit and his friend went to sleep. We napped again, but there was a comfy bed and we were uncomfortable on the sofa! So we went to his bedroom and… I can’t even talk about it because it will spoil the magic, and words can’t describe the moment, the heat. Well, I don’t have the words to describe it! My life could have ended today and I’d die happy.
– Pause to relive it! – Ai ai ai…

Not sure I slept, I closed my eyes and when I opened them it was 10 in the morning… The neighbours knocked and came in to say good morning, have a smoke and a chat. Patrick and I smoked, and went for a coffee at Denise’s. Patrick and I went to Camden, he bought me a black earring and he wore the other one. We bought food, went to Regent’s Park, smoked, ate and slept. I had dreams, the sun was strong and I caught it. At three we had another spliff and went back to Camden to meet some of Patrick’s friends and mine who never turned up. We were just wandering around, got more food and sat by the canal. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine. Check this out, on Saturday Patrick put some Irish protest songs on, and I was so stoned I started imagining he was in the IRA, fighting for freedom. Except he’s from the Republic of Ireland… But at one point I almost really believed he was with the IRA… He has just finished university, he’s only 21, not 24 – he said that because he thought I was older. He received his results and diploma on Friday. We got on really well.

I took Patrick to the Brazilian squat and everyone was speaking Portuguese, Patrick just looking bemused, rolling up the joints. He got up and went somewhere, and I thought he wouldn’t come back because he hates when everyone starts speaking Portuguese. He came back after 10 minutes, to get me so we could watch Brazil vs Sweden at the pub on the colour screen. The pub was empty and I said I wasn’t that bothered about the match, it was the atmosphere that mattered. He left and came back 10 minutes later with all the Brazilians! Oh my God, Gustavo wouldn’t stop shouting when the match was on. It was pathetic. More people arrived. And Gustavo screaming like a lunatic “Brazil is the best!!” I was mortified.

On the first goal, the Brazilians jumped up (except me, I was stoned and embarrassed), on the second goal, we all shouted, Gustavo jumped and ran around like a headless chicken. The third goal, scored by Sweden, all the non Brazilians jump around, scream, make lots of noise. It was all a bit weird. After that there was a strange atmosphere.

The game ended, Patrick went home and I went to the Brazilian squat. Patrick said he might need to work on Sunday (he works on Chelsea Bridge, they are blasting the entire bridge) and we might not be able to see each other. I looked at him in the eye and said “You are working on Sunday?” he said “maybe” and I believed him. Denise kept winding me up, asking “where is your little friend” whenever she saw me. At first she was calling him my “little boyfriend” and then she downgraded him to friend. What will it be tomorrow, acquaintance? I don’t get why she was doing that… But it upset me.

I went home at 10, but I got a taxi, I was so exhausted. I smoked non stop all weekend, don’t think I went for longer than an hour without a toke.

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