So anyway, I had a nice weekend. I know it’s Thursday and virtually another weekend, but I’ve not really arrived back in Berlin yet in my head. I went to the UK with the girlfriend to see friends and go to an old old friend’s wedding.
Quick summary: boozing with mates, eating at Garlic and Shots (everything on the menu has garlic in it. Even the beer. No, really. It’s well tasty, too), bumming around Brighton, going on a rollercoaster in the rain, fish and chips, watching the BAFTAs on telly, buying stuff in HMV…
The wedding was the first I’ve ever been to as an adult, (either I’ve got no friends or none of my friends get married…), and it was quite enjoyable. It was in a lovely little place called Arundel, quite near to Brighton. I got to wear a suit, I saw old pals, I witnessed the bride crying as she did her vows, and I saw the groom’s mum get incredibly drunk.
Every time I go back to the UK, stuff has changed. People who I’ve never seen before are really famous, the cost of cigarettes is well over a fiver, and I feel like a lonesome freak for wondering why the hell everyone is going doolally about the Arctic Monkeys when they’re quite clearly average at best.
At least I got to continue proving my own Laws Of The Airport to be correct:
1. You will always see an African man dressed in bright clothes with a matching hat.
2. You will always see an Arab wearing the gear you see Sheikhs wearing.
3. You will always see an East European woman in a fur coat.
4. You will always see a British man wearing a cowboy hat or sombrero.
5. There will be a car on display at the airport and only men will be stood near it.
6. If you’ve eaten at a Burger King or McDonald’s in the airport, no matter how well you wash your hands, the smell will haunt your fingers on the flight.
But this time I disproved my own personal law about reading on a plane. This law is simple: it could be the best book ever ever in the world ever, but I’ll still read the complimentary Daily Mail or magazine I bought at the airport on the flight rather than the book. This time, I read my book. And boy am I enjoying it. It’s Moneyball by Michael Lewis, if you’re interested. It’s about baseball.
Since I came back from Mexico six weeks ago, I’m finding writing stuff here a bit of a slog. Not really got back in the swing of things. Hopefully that’ll change soon. I keep saying this, but I might start doing some more Ohrwurm-y stuff here, cos I used to enjoy that, and it’s a never ending topic.
The one I’ve got in my head today is The Mavericks’ song Dance The Night Away. I like this song quite a lot. I didn’t used to when it first came out, and I’d hear it all the time. But then one night, coincidentally a night out in Brighton, I’d been doing the unthinkable: dancing in a nightclub. I was in a good mood, a bit worse for wear at the end of a long sweaty night, and went into a shop to buy some water on the way back to my mate’s house and this song was being played. I was in a sufficiently good mood to start enjoying the song and believing the song’s sentiment. Yes, actually, I do want to dance the night away. Since that day, I’ve enjoyed this song. But I’ve rarely danced the night away. Maybe the song has sucked up my dancing and re-focussed it on the song. Maybe.