I’m on the train out of London, the slow route. Kentish fields and hedges rolling past the window, every centimetre shaped by human hands over millenia, but still with some residual wildness, a reminder of what will be when we are gone.
Last night I was out in Savage Cross, where I live. We went to an appalling night of dancing at the Stuffed Head Emporium. I was expecting trashy pop, because that was what they advertised. What I wasn’t expecting was the sheer calculated shitness of it all. The DJs thought too much of themselves to play actual pop favourites, preferring to stick with the truly second rate pop. This was, I suspect, a display of dominance, sadly encouraged by the punters, who queued outside to be aurally abused in this manner. Several in the group complained and eventually we retired to someone’s flat to play our own music. I am hungover today – an ill-advised mixture of medium quality cider and gin.
Otherwise I had a good day yesterday, including some time in a local gentrified cafe. I would go to the non-gentrified cafes, but I go to cafes to use my laptop and feel so out of place in the more established establishments. Curiously it only feels right to sit there abusing the wifi for two hours with one pot of tea in the more upmarket cafes. This means, I suppose, that I am the target market of these cafes. And I do enjoy them, even get a sense of well-being from my presence in them, perhaps feeling I have attained the comforts of the bourgoisie. It’s easy to mock, but being bourgouse means having a safety net. It is becoming a rarer state as I type, as the money drains out of the country to sit in tax havens out of circulation. We get no inflation these days however much money the government prints because money is constantly being removed from the economy by our lords and masters. Gentrified cafes are the last flourish of a declining middle class. Let me enjoy them.
It feels good, despite the hangover, to be out of the metropolis for two days. Only the omnipresent crows remind me that there is no escape, not really.