bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Dear Rachel

I looked in the mirror this morning, and was disconcerted to find that I didn’t have a reflection. No one wants to find out that they are a vampire before breakfast, and I was relieved to find that actually, the mirror in question was the door of what I hadn’t previously realised was a cupboard, which had been opened slightly and was reflecting at a different angle than usual. Discovering that I had attained supernatural status during the night would have been particularly hard to bear, considering that I had spent most of it wrestling with Goliath 12, our griefjunkie mainframe computer, which appears to have melted. It certainly isn’t working anymore, however it isn’t the disaster it would have been once upon a time considering we are pretty much wrapping up our East Yard operation this weekend.

(You might want to click on Read More now, for baby and drugs news)

It’s already wrapped up, really. The last few embers of the good ship Griefjunkie are still glowing away on the old stall, however, they are now part of our joint project with Anthony from Meaningless Slogan. I am rarely to be found behind it anymore, choosing instead to muck about with aprons just up the row a little bit, and gallivanting about in Spitalfields on Sundays. I certainly don’t intent to print any more stock once the stuff on the stall has gone, although yes it will all stay on here for the foreseeable. In fact, most of my printing time this week was taken up producing stuff for fellow East Yard urchin Jack, and his Rock Boutique, which, as the name implies, is a wooden table with smiley t shirts on it. I had enough time to watch the Others, series three of Peep Show, and Donnie Darko. I love Donnie Darko and enjoy going online afterwards to look up the plot. I am still unsure, but as far as I can tell Donnie (or Donald) Darko falls off his bike, which is lucky as his house has been hit by a plane, and then everything pretty much sorts itself out from there.

Anyway. Any ladies walking through London’s bustling Camden Lock Market will doubtless have been accosted by Jack, our very own pasty Lothario, asking them if they want to go to a rave in 1988. A relatively new addition to the East Yard spastic battalion, the Rock Boutique is taking the world of casual fashion by, well not by storm, but by, I dunno, gust. My favourite of his is one with ‘Music Is My Drug Of Choice’ on it, because music would be a good choice of drug, if you couldn’t get hold of hash or coke or heroin. My drug of choice is kebabs. I like kebabs so much that I will happily reverse a night out by going up the pub, banging down six kebabs with chip chasers, and having a pint on the nightbus home. For a light snack, I will get a kebab, and put it in a sandwich. That said, I was whiling away a Sunday evening in the Duke of Wellington with Chris and Louis and all that the other week when I discovered that you could synthesise a healthy baked potato with cheese and bacon by getting ready salted crisps, bacon fries and cheesy Wotsits and having one of each, at the same time. Nutritious, and an ideal recession-buster for the pennywise. Bon appetite!

Postscript

It’s been a while since Joe was at Camden, being that he has been in Bristol preparing for fatherhood. I’m pleased to report that, since the last entry, a new little chap has arrived in the world: a lovely warm wrinkly chap called Horace Gilmour. I should imagine that Horace only thinks there are three people in the world – Joe, Abby, and his sister – but on behalf of everyone outside that proud and glowing little group I should like to extend a hearty welcome to the sleepy little man.