Monday, November 21, 2011

Laddies Forever

(to the tune of Remember the Time - Michael Jackson)

Do you Remember
When we lived in Ladbroke Grove,
It was 2009 back then.
Do you Remember,
Living on a main road,
We got vibrated off the couch,
So why did it end?

Do you Remember
The garbage trees.
Every morning the street would stink.
Do you Remember,
The Ladbroke Grove times,
They just go on and on
In the back of my mind.

I miss Ladbroke Grove... when we moved to Maida Vale to be neighbours with Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow to drink smug eggnog lattes at the Starbucks I always knew I'd be missing Ladbroke Grove.

Don't get me wrong, I love where we live in Maida Vale - living in a 3 floor split storey flat with more room than we can ever need (truth be told we moved so that Lenny would run up and down the stairs to lose some weight - fucking fat ass) It's a great street, I wake to the sounds of birds singing rather than hobo's. And you know what.............. that is lame.

Last night I went to a house-party back in the Grove, and the first person I bumped into on the street was one of the local derelicts who walks around all day singing. I miss that guy. I miss throwing our garbage onto the street and then calling up the council clean up line to complain that my eggs are still out there glued to the pavement and they better clean that shit up now!!!!!!!!!! I don't pay council tax to live like this. clean those eggs up now bitches!

I miss going to the gym and seeing the vaginas of women of nationalities from around the world. You know whose muffs I see at Maida Vale gym?? Aspirational types who go for Starbucks afterwards. There is nothing saggy and scary in there... boring.

The house-party which was one block down from where we used to live was one of my top-5 parties of all time. Reasons: the flat was owned by a mega rich guy who had the place pimped out. We could stand around in the backyard smoking next to the housed in fire, or sit under the canopy on the giant couch watching the waterfall and the coloured lights reflecting into the unseasonably balmy november sky.

Or you could go inside and dance under the best chandelier I have ever seen.

Minted. Great Taste. The DJ was excellent and there was more wine than I could ever swim through if we poured it into a pool.

Not only that but famous people were there. Famous. I love famous people. If you looked up starfucker in the dictionary there'd be a picture of me. except I don't fuck them. instead I corner them, pretend I don't know who they are and lure them into a conversation about something banal like how my cat needs it's nails trimmed because they are too long and are ruining all my blankets woven by Tibetan Monks.

Binky was there: If you haven't see Made in Chelsea, then I can't even talk to you. Go download an episode then come back and finish reading. Brill.

It was my belief that if I could corner Binky, become best-friends, then I would be in Made in Chelsea season 3.. like... I could so be in that show. I would just need to work on my pout.

I have to be honest though, I am never the one who clocks any of these people. I have people blinkers on at all times, everyone is in sea of nameless faces unless I personally know you and you are standing in front of me. Mark however has 'Celebrity Radar' whilst I 'm walking along the street looking at the ground to make sure I don't step in poo, he's looking everyone in the face making sure they aren't someone famous that we should make friends with. Half the time I don't even believe him when he tells me he's at a bar at Soho drinking with Keira Knightley. I mean?? sif. She doesn't drink. She's an anorexic robot.

However Mark totally clocked Chiwetel Ejiofor, and it was him. So of course we made him come over and join our group, pretended we didn't know who he was and told him the whole story about Lenny coming to London and bonded over taking our pets across international borders. New Friend. He is filming a movie with Brad Pitt and Michael Fassbender next year. Hello!!!! I want to go to that party. I will go up to Brad Pitt pretend I don't know him and talk about how vets are always trying to gyp you with weight loss food for cats when we all know that you just need to exercise your cat, but ever tried making a cat run on a treadmill???

So yeah, we are moving back to Ladbroke Grove. We've had some good times Maida Vale, some good quiet times, but to be honest I can't sleep properly without the sound of the 452 whizzing past and my Opera singer downstairs neighbour going through her octave exercises at 7am on Sunday morning.

Plus my knee has been playing up which I blamed on having reactive arthritis - cos that's what all the cool kids have - but after one party in Ladbroke Grove it is back to normal, so I can only assume my knee was going through a malaise of missing Laddies and was punishing me. Point taken Knee. Point Taken.

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