Saturday, 8 September 2007

Rasputin and his alleged resistance to poison

I feel a bit sad tonight (or this morning), I have a feeling tonight was the first and last balmy night of the summer. That beautifully rare mild night where you can ponce around in a shirt and have drinks in London without fear of a sudden blizzard or passing shower.

Went to the XXXXXXX bar tonight. Always enjoy it there. A compact rock bar with good drinks and eccentric clientele.

Some interesting events, a bloke asked my mate Trigger if she'd look after his drink whilst he went for a smoke outside. He was the spitting image of a young Derek Jacobi. When he fucked off I was raging, "He looks like Derek Jacobi, a young Derek Jacobi! Look at him!" he even had the roman senator hairstyle with a flattened bouffant fringe and bowl cut. But no one knew who Derek Jacobi was, and my observation was wasted.

The lead singer of Lost Prophets walked in, sporting a trilby, white vest and a big shiner where I imaged someone smacked him in the head. Various randoms overheard whispering, "Is it him?", "Really?". Frankly I don't know anything about them, I suggested to the girl sitting next to me that we should approach him and ask for a photo, if he agreed we'd hand him the camera and say "well hurry up and take a picture of us then you prick!" oh the old ones are the best. She found it funny anyway and wandered off to find him to try that very line whilst I tried to convince her half heartedley that it wasn't a good idea.

Then to the toilets, visiting the toilets in the XXXX is an experience. Now rock bar toilets are usually grim, but these are the interesting side of grim. No seats, metal bowls with limescale protusions embedded with a new bacterial lifeform, bog roll on chains and no locks. Also, you need to tuck your trousers into your socks to avoid soiling your clothing with the bodily waste of a goth.

Really, you do need a police forensic suit to frequent them. When I got downstairs a couple was waiting for one of the badly ventilated hot piss and shit steamed cubicles to be vacated.

He went in first and exclaimed "Enjoy the smell!", I then started to explain that if you ingested small particles of toilet juice every day you will build up an immunity to poison....just like Rasputin.

The woman (while her man was pissing and groaning simultaneously from behind the rickety wooden door) asked me if eating shit was a good idea. A good response. So I continued deadpan. "It would depend on how much you ingest of course, and increasing your quantity over time will of course increase your resistance, leading to full immunity". She seemed fascinated, and asked me whether I would do it. I said of course not, but if I was the lover of the Russian queen, a massive powerful monk and a political activist then I would consider it. Her boyfriend had finished pissing and having listened to our brief and surreal conversation, shepherded her away, with the guilty look of a man who had convinced his girlfriend of an obscure lie to get his own filthy way at some other point in the past. Perhaps not a lie on a par with "eating shit is good for you" though.

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