bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Further Adventures In Greenwich

Dear Rachel

On a Saturday morning, Danny, who trades opposite me at Greenwich Market, usually likes to show me bleak iPhone footage of, I dunno, dogs shagging women, dwarves shagging ponies, the disabled shagging tennis rackets, stuff like that. Basically, things improbably shagging other things in ways that, later on when you are at home, make you want to cry in the bath.

Thankfully, there has been less time for these spirit-jading episodes recently as I am now running a double pitch, with the new prints and such, and it takes much longer to set up. At Camden, as I think I said before back in the Myspace days, setting up was easy: I would discuss the footie with Barry the Cakes over a custard doughnut, then have a second by the canal while chatting to a lady called Jenny, who used to run along the towpath every morning, and then wander back to the East Yard contemplating how advisable my breakfast choices really were for a diabetic, by which time Martin would have everything sorted out and ready to go.�

While I was performing my far more labour intensive Greenwich set up last Saturday, a woman was quite taken by our Slightly Disturbing Map Of The London Underground System. ‘Yeah’, I agreed, ‘it came out well. All that stuff on there, the hauntings and plague pits and abandoned stations and all that, is completely accurate. The paper itself is silk paper, which is a better with the inks in this particular print, the design work on which we handed out to a graphic designer of my acquaintance to make sure it was decently executed. It’s A1 size, so it’s going to dominate a wallspace, which is what we want it to do. I’d be surprised if you saw anything like it again’. ‘My husband would love this – how much is it?’ she replied, stroking the paper. ‘£15, and I’ll put it in a cardboard tube so it doesn’t get damaged on the way home’. There was a tiny, horrified pause. ‘See that?’ she said, pulling a blouse from a carrier bag ‘H & M, three quid’, and fucked off.

You get that sort of thing a lot, and I imagine it happens in every type of retail, anywhere, ever. I’ve only started to consider it recently as I am, as those of you who stayed awake last time will recall, in a whose-idea-was-that? position of unofficial mentor to a bunch of excellent if law-shy Asian Cockneys, and all this stuff has to ebe explained to stop innocent if annoying browsers getting jabbed up with craft knives.

Despite their protestations to the contrary, I didn’t consider cuffin’ da bitch down to be an appropriate response – although arguably cussin’ her up might be – and anyway, most of the people who are going to annoy you are pretty cool, you just aren’t meeting them under ideal circumstances. I also added that, in defence of the general public, I was hard pressed to think of any circumstances under which meeting them would be ideal, being that they stab classmates for their trainers, which is the kind of talk that I think would make me a) a very good social worker and b) one that would never be employed. Besides which, seeing as they are in business now, if they are going to stab someone for their trainers, they have to at least sell them afterwards.

Facebook: down one, but up two, to 110. We said last time that we’d make a list of members in order to to name and shame leavers for a larf, so we sort of have to go along with it now This produced a milestone, as for the first time someone who actually fucking knows us has walked out. Yeah alright, knows us only vaguely, but knows us nonetheless. We can only assume that, like all middle class teenagers, she hates Facebook and sees no need to use it. It seems a bit, you know, weird to actually mention Miss B by her real name, so as you can see we’ve given her a DJ one instead.

Twitter: 78 followers here though, which, as my old dear once memorably pointed out, is a lot more than Jesus had at my age.

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