Bored of excitement – The griefjunkie blog 

Dear Rachel,

The churchyard of Christ Church Spitalfields, near the market on Commercial Road, was at one time inhabited by tramps and vagrants so verminous and lice ridden that it was locally known as Itchy Park.  Fact fans, trivia buffs and tittle tattle afficionados will be interested to learn that this ‘Itchy Park’ was the inspiration for the Small Faces’ 1966 hit – which for some reason I just don’t get on with – Itchycoo Park.

Even more interestingly, it was on the jukebox of the adjacent and dearly beloved (by us) Duke of Wellington public house during my two hour stint as de facto landlord, on March 7th this year.  Vinny, the actual landlord, had nipped out for a while, and the only other punter in the place was a bloke in his twenties reading Byron.  I know he was reading Byron, because when I asked him what he was reading, he showed me the cover of the book for half a second without saying anything or moving his eyes or head at all.  I got the impression that he was really reading Byron, in a way that someone like myself simply could not, even if I chose to try.   It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he dressed up like Bryon in order to further enjoy the book, but unless Bryon wore Pink Floyd t shirts like some sort of twat I don’t think he had on this occasion.

The Duke of Wellington has a nice, comfortable, lived in – or rather, given its age, died in – feel, and attracts a pleasingly varied clientele.  This includes booze shamblers such as ourselves, who will sit at the table by the dartboard and drink until they realise it is 3 in the morning and the Northern Line has shut down, to itinerant Bens and Barneys and Joshes and Sophies, who are the inevitable result of the Ben Heaviness of inner city London that we observed here.  Once, the Duke was so Ben-heavy that me and Louis and Gary had to sit in the garden in the cold for ten minutes, until Vinny the landlord came out and said ‘Gentlemen, your table is ready’ and guided us to the one by the door under the picture of the Duke of Wellington himself – my favourite one, actually – which he had cleared by saying ‘Excuse me, can you lot fuck off and stand over there’. 

Anyway.  What struck me as strange about the man was not so much that he had gone up the pub to read Byron – why shouldn’t he, after all – but the manner in which he was reading it.  He sort of looked heroic, as if he had arranged himself in a manner specifically designed for someone reading romantic poetry.  The later evening hours at the Duke are no stranger to me arranging myself in the manner of someone who has consumed a great deal of snakebite, so while I am in no position to criticise, it did seem like the sort of thing he should be beaten up for.  Not too badly, just generally slapped about to make the point, and then left to think about himself for a bit. 

Contemplating the man reading Byron in the pub, then, was how I spent the evening of March 7th 2010.  I ended up quite hammered, and in the mood of indulgent self celebration which is the only and ultimate purpose of alcohol consumption, I decided it would be a good idea to write 7/3/10 on a plastic disc I had about my person and place it in an empty Johnny Walker Black Label case on the window sill, where I should think it still is, awaiting discovery by future civilisations.   It’s not that I don’t get out much, but that these days this is about as exciting as it gets when I do.

Twitter: Always fascinating.

Facebook:  Someone else has simply had enough, so we’re down from 117 to 116 members this week.