bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Archive for May, 2013

One Hundred And Thirty Six Thousand Pounds

Thursday, May 30th, 2013

Dear Rachel

I found myself discussing the subject of gambling recently at the Duke of Wellington public house, London E1, with Vinny the landlord and a Petticoat Lane fabric wholesaler of my acquaintance, who shall remain nameless. Vinny’s method of gambling – which I call ‘Cab Out, Bus Home’ – involves going to a casino up West in a black taxi, losing all his money as quickly as possible, then coming back on the N11 from Stamford Brook with the clubbers, homeless and mentally ill. The nameless fabric wholesaler has a more successful approach, which he puts down to nothing more than being born an optimist in Watford. As he explained his theory, I offered to sell Vinny my bike to cut his travelling costs.

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The Trouble With Brighton

Tuesday, May 14th, 2013

Dear Rachel,

I’m not sure I believe in horoscopes, although I do see how having several different innate character types would be useful if you were inventing a species from scratch. As a means of prediction it seems flawed to me, although no more flawed than an origami salt cellar. This is the official name for one of those paper devices from everyone’s childhood which consist of four folded quarters, the contents of which contain a ‘fortune’ which is revealed and read aloud after the ‘enquirer’ has first picking an assigned number and colour.

Recently on my stall at Greenwich Market, I was confronted by Dalek Stu’s endearing son Peter and Mental Dave (who owns an imaginary hotel in the Bloomsbury area), who appeared from different directions at the same time. Peter shoved an origami salt cellar at me and asked me to pick a number, to which I replied ‘Four’. Mental Dave informed me that former Spurs and England midfield maestro Glenn Hoddle was looking for me in Marks and Spencer, to the amusement of nearby customers. Meanwhile Peter, having counted to four and rearranged the salt cellar accordingly, asked me to pick a colour. I said ‘Blue’, while Mental Dave asked if I’d heard any more from Phil Spector about his car keys. Peter unfolded the origami salt cellar and invited Mental Dave to read what was written there.

‘The Problem Is You’re An Idiot’, he said, quoting the salt cellar and bringing a look of ill-disguised glee to my customers.

‘That is uncanny’ I said, and walked off to get an Americano from Coffee Keith, leaving them all to their own devices.

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