An early start ahead of a very long day ahead. Not sure I’ll find time to crowbar in a cat nap ahead of tonight’s midnight gong show.
Early morning south London lowlights include a fight nearly breaking out by the Brixton Academy, a regular gathering point for SW9 drinkers, and discarded CHICKEN bones on a seat on the upper deck of the number 2 bus.
Outside the café, Seb K, London’s most gifted coffee maker, was overseeing workmen from a guttering company. A ladder extended to the top floor of the now regularly flooded building. I’m guessing the gutters are now overspilling and customers are in danger of being hit by the overspill on walking through the café’s unique barking door.
Mr Chin Fissure is in the café with his daughter. Mrs Fissure was nowhere to be seen. I exchange a ‘morning’ with Mr Fissure, looking dashing in his double denim. It disappoints me he never leads on the morning salutation. I’m not saying I have to drag it out of him. But it’d be nice to know he wants this, you know.
Fissure junior, now in her late teens or perhaps even early twenties, has a dimple that might even outstrip that of her parents. I guess there’s no surprise there. You get two people getting together, both with a fissure, you’re always going to be securing the jaw dimple for the next generation. It’ll take three or four generations to perhaps bleed that out. I always wonder if it was a conscious decision for the Fissures to get together. I mean, ‘back in the day’, on those early dates, they must’ve had to acknowledge their respective bony crevices. Did they make light of this, or did they go into it in a deeper way, outlining why they felt this left them with better quality jaws than the rest of us? Were they so enamoured with the fissures that they had determined they both wanted to extend it into another generation?
This may not fascinate you, but it fascinates me.
In other news, I find myself haggling over an eBay Star Wars action figure. The two new teams joining the Football League ahead of Silver Age Season 8, starting next week, are both in need of 'keepers for their squads. We're currently 15p apart on our valuation of a mid-90s Hasbro figure who I feel has the big hands needed to be a 'keeper. The seller isn't budging. It's like dealing with Spurs chairman Daniel Levy. He declined my latest offer within 30 seconds of my making it. It felt like he was about to rise from their bed when my offer came through, he might've been about to adjust his boxers, or briefs, the elasticicated waistand perhaps having twisted overnight, but before doing that, despite the discomfort the twisted pants were bringing to his groin area, he prioritsed declining my offer over his physical comfort.
The coffee is good and pale, like me, I guess. I’ve had four hours sleep, but aside from the risks such little sleep on a regular basis poses to my health, I feel okay ahead of tonight when my arse could again be handed to me onstage.
Onwards, upwards.
Or sideways, at least.
But never backwards.
Don’t fear the milk, people.
Have a good day.
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