Burnt out and pissed off
The party tonight. Don’t know if I’ll bother going, really. Probably just a lot of old queens there. Still, it’d be interesting. To see how the other half parties, I guess.
Did the final fitting this afternoon. The suit. I got to admit it looks pretty slick. Well, it will when they repair it, anyway. I’d put it on and was twirling around to take a look in the mirror when bloody Max comes twatting about, pulling the sleeves and messing around with the shoulders and God knows what and, as always, he has a big fat cigar in his mouth and the silly bugger only goes and drops some burning ash onto one of the sleeves of the jacket. Eric sees it right away and brushes it off but it’s too sodding late by then. It leaves a bloody great sodding hole in sodding the sleeve, don’t it. I told Max, “You should give up smoking. Your time of life. It could damage your health.”
“Yeah,” says Eric, “Especially if he was to burn a hole in one of the Chiswick Boys’ suits.”
The Chiswick Boys being one of the gangs that frequents the establishment. Anyway, Eric says he can fix it by tomorrow and I trust Eric more than I trust Max. When Max tells you his word is his bond (one of his favourite expressions) you know he’s pulling a fast one. It’s only after I left that I remembered tomorrow is Sunday. What the hell, it can wait till next week. it’s only a sodding suit.
Anyway, I wasn’t planning to wear the suit to the party. If I go, that is. I reckon it’s going to be hot this evening. Muggy. Indian summer as you might say. So better to dress casual. Tee-shirt and jeans.
If I go. Which, as I said, is by no means certain. I probably won’t bother going, in fact. Not my scene, if you know what I mean...