Did you think I had forgotten about my London Chronicles or that all the stories had been already told? I find your lack of faith disturbing, really, ha ha ha!
Let me put you in situation. Do you remember that day I had to spend several hours wearing my pajamas at a pub in my hood? It took 6 hours or so till one of my flat mates came back home and opened the door for me. Well, I barely spent 30 minutes there, because I was to meet my friend Lukas at 6,30pm at the Fox for having some drinks and clubbing, you know, the usual Saturday night thing. Booze, booze, booze, some random rubbish fast food, dancing, booze, dancing, booze…and at 2.50am the feared bell announcing the party was over.
This reminds me of my top 3 old London clubs I will tell you about some day: Gossips, RockScene and The Temple of Metal.
Anyway. Depending on the night and how much drunk I was, I decided whether to hire a minicab or take the night bus and spend more than an hour enjoying the bunch of weirdos in more or less the same condition as me.
That night it was night bus night, and the ride was a funny one.
I was listening to music with my Walkman. Yes, remember that device that played and sometimes ruined tapes? Anyway, even though it’s not relevant for the story I remember I was listening to Blues For The Red Sun, by Kyuss. I was on the top floor of the bus and at the back. Probably the less save sit yet my favorite. I had seen these two guys 2-3 rows ahead gesturing and laughing a lot, and almost immediately I realized they were Spanish. We are quite recognizable when we move in crowds. I felt nosy enough as to stop my Walkman and start listening to their conversation. Obviously on Saturday night the main topic of discussion was girls. Apparently they had been at a party and one of their lady friends had been prick-teasing one of the guys real hard, and the guy had been suffering with a huge hard-on for half an hour. Comments were brilliant and I was enjoying the conversation until I cracked up laughing. I couldn’t help it. The guys noticed me and first reaction was to shut up, and then to ask me if I had heard and understood everything and if I was Spanish. When I replied yes to all their questions, the guys passed me a beer and asked me to join them, so I did. There was still a question to be clarified. Did he pick the girl? The answer was No. She only wanted to get him horny and make her ex jealous, so the guy and his friend decided the party was over. The story and its details were hilarious. I guess we exchanged phone numbers at some point but we never called each other, typical short and intense London acquaintance.
When I took off the bus, still I had to walk a couple of kilometers to my flat. That was the worst part. It was cold, half foggy, and at 5am there was not a single soul on the street. Just me. If I think of it sometimes I get very concerned and scared about being so careless. I didn’t give a shit, and wasn’t ever afraid. With age this has changed a bit. I feel more threatened by possible dangers.
Anyway, I had been walking home, listening to Kyuss, when I noticed there was something behind me, but I couldn’t figure what it was, only that it was alive and it was following. I started walking, stopping and turning around, and I saw it. it was a fox. A FOX! I had never seen one for real in my life, and it looked really cute. I started calling him trying to attract him, but the animal was very cautious although it was staring at me all the time. I started wondering if I was as drunk as to mix up a fox for a cat, but I didn’t care.
All of a sudden, there was a Police van by my side, and the two cops inside staring at me. The good one was the driver, and looked weak and thin. The bad cop, very rude and unfriendly, was huge and fat. The good one started the conversation:
G(ood)C(op): G’night, m’am. Are you ok? Can we help you?
T(oi): Oh, g’night sir! I’m fine, I’m fine. On my way home. Now that I think, can I ask you a question? I got a doubt.
GC: Yes, sure, go ahead.
T: That animal on the corner, is it a cat or a fox?
GC: It’s a fox. They’re quite common around.
T: Really? Been living here for a while and never seen one before.
B(ad) C(op): Rubbish!
T: Well, it might be rubbish for you, but it’s the first time I see one and it looks nice to me.
GC: Do you need anything else?
T: No, that’s fine, thanks a lot, and g’night.
GC: Eeeer, m’am. We’ve seen you’ve remarkably abused of alcohol tonight, and I was thinking it’d be a good idea to give you a ride home. You live far from here?
T: No sir, 5 minutes walking straight. But it’s not necessary, really. I can handle it. Plus, the full moon is shining, I’m listening to Kyuss and I like walking close to a fox. Much appreciated anyway.
GC: Ok, m’am. Have a good night and walk save home.
This conversation actually happened, I don’t make up anything. I have it in my mind fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Once the cops left I started laughing. The situation was awkward and ridiculous.
I learned time after that, in the hoods, if cops find people drunk on the streets, they often give them a ride home, but I didn’t know about it, and the thought of arriving escorted by two cops and my landlord finding out the whole scene, didn’t seem quite appropriate if I didn’t want to be kicked out.
The fox soon left and I finally arrived home. What a crazy day! I think I crushed on my bed fully dressed and slept for 8 hours straight, something miraculous back in the day.
Never saw a fox again, cops never took me home for being drunk, and the only time I talked to another cop, was during a parade, at the coffee shop I used to work, one Saturday morning, without sleeping and still drunk, when I borrowed his hat and friends started pictures of me wearing it it with the cop wearing my apron. Insane! I wonder who the hell has that picture.