Shine on you Crazy Diamond

My friend TC is here from a land far away. He likes to go clubbing and get off his face. It had been a long while since I have done similar, so I suggested we go out and get on it. Honey wasn’t pleased about our choice to go to South London – which is understandable given my track record of going out and forgetting who I am. We decided we would stay local. We were coerced into going to the Summer Solstice party in Barnet, which was quite the opposite of a rave, the atmosphere that of booze and tension. Making our excuses and beating a hasty retreat, we found ourselves back in Finchley, bombs kicking in. Staying true to our spirit of localism, we went to the shack in the middle of the road, opposite Finchley Central Station, where it was warm, inviting and foreign. We made our way through the bar, through the dancing space and into the back bar, where we sat on a black leather sofa, sipping our fizzy water with lime and buzzed away for a few hours. At around 2.30 the bar closed and we hopped in the car for our short ride up the road. As we passed my road we came to a stop, considering where to go next. As I looked to the right, there was a policeman on a bike, asking TC to wind the window down. The policeman took one look him and said, ‘you alright mate!? … I noticed that you were driving very slowly up the road … and why haven’t you pulled up to the lights?’. My quick thinking friend said, ‘we’ve just missed our turning and we were considering whether to take this left or the next left.’ – ‘ah’, said the policeman, ‘you can take this one’ and we did.


* Next left you say, Officer? *

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