¦ dialling in from Sky Bunker ¦
17:13 GMT, Sunday 21st Feb 2010.
Sitting in the warm breeze of life support, wrapped up in Starsky and squinting at my screen through the throb of a receding hangover and the general fug of a non-functioning brain. No writing today.
I'm playing Enigma's first album again, on vinyl. The sun is starting to fade beyond the horizon and the distant rural hills overlooking Bristol. It's been a glorious day; cold, but blazing sunlight.
Another stellar weekend.
As was last weekend... 13th Feb, headed out to the Square lounge, part of Berkley Square hotel, tres up market, tres good vibes. Ant and Annas combined 30th b/day. Everyone dressed up as circus freaks or burlesque ladies. No costume for me: I'd been too deep into writing or frazzled from work intensity during days leading up... but I was able to borrow a really cool hat.
The double-whiskey's flowed and I got a buzz on.
DJ playing classic rave tunes from late 80's and early 90's. I danced my ass off.
Party relocated around 1am to a nearby club: Dojo's... more Techno / Trance, and I'm in there wearing a freaky Gangs of New York hat and handlebar moustache.
Great response from everyone there.
A lot of happy club vibes. A general crowd of familiar faces builds up on the dance floor around me during the night.
Fun city all around.
A girl comes up to me around 6 A.M., taps my arm with a mischievous smirk on her lips and says, "I've pulled then."
She's referring to me.
Hmmm.
I smile and keep on dancing, then walk over to corner of club, grab my jacket off the floor, walk out club into a taxi and head home. Flattered, but not for me.
I get home, strip off sweaty clothes and crawl into bed next to Jo, loving what I have with her.
It's Valentines day.
Later in the morning she wakes me up with breakfast in bed. Eggs cooked with a heart-shaped template... on toast and gallons of tea. What a lady.
Sunday is a write-off regarding doing anything with my brain, but, there's a whole day of Poirot on TV. Bliss city. I lay on sofa and enjoy.
The week is busy. Work is ramping up with project pressures. I'm back into eating Sushi a couple times a week for lunch; not cheap but worth it for the fuel for the brain.
Dog Eat Dog evolves slowly, but I'm finding a groove with it again and very happy with what I'm pushing out.
Doc Toc has been reading the raw draft and says it's my best work to date.
I get a great review of God Seed from Matthias (Mr Vega$).
Read ReviewAnd Edge, my last book, a thriller set in a snowboarding resort starts to spike in sales again, surging ahead of the other novels.
Preview EdgeSo, happy days.
Except...
This week has seen my mum settling heavily on my thoughts.
I miss her loads.
Friday night appears almost as if the week has vanished in the blink of my eyes.
Jo's away all weekend and I'm up in the Sky Bunker, laying down the final part of chapter 22... but I'm in the mood for not staying in.
I arrange to meet Doc Toc at the scene of last week's crime: the Square lounge.
Late night drive into town.
A couple pints of lager shandy for me and fun night with the man.
A very late night trip to the Magic Roll to feast on food heaven.
I drive Doc Toc back to his palace and then depart home.
Some Modern Warfare 2, online multiplayer mode.
Then I crawl into bed and sink into deep slumber.
To be woken, before 9 am, by the new guy next door shouting at his girlfriend: Jack and Elspeth, the new characters in Crazy Chronicles - where does the landlord advertise for tenants? I roll over onto my back, inhale a lungful of air and shout SHUT-UUUP!!!
Psycho Jack goes quiet.
I doze, then crawl out of bed and brew tea. Sit in bed for a bit reading a book. Then I'm up and out, driving Rocket into town and settle into my familiar seat at the Arnolfini Cafe. Strong coffee and a pain au chocolat.
2 hours later I've finished chapter 22.
The next chapter has got me excited. I have to write my first Dead City run.
The rest of the day is spent in the Sky Bunker. Then last night arrives. I grab a bus ride into town and feel liberated not having to worry about my car: where to park, limiting consumption.
The Big Chill bar. Off Corn Street. My new favourite place. I get friendly with Chris, the barman. He pours shots of double whisky with European style... fuck the exact measures... whisky overspills and floods my glass. Good man, Chris.
I'm meeting with Dan B. Like Ant / Anna, he collects intelligent good natured people. A crowd gathers at our table and its fun and smiles all round. The bar starts to heave. I get chatting with a lovely Kiwi bloke called Matt; grabbed his number so will hopefully keep in touch.
We depart the bar and everything is a swirl of movement, noise, and grins. A lot of whisky in my system. We end up heading to a house party. During the walk I turn round and find a solitary girl behind us, strolling along with a pint in her hand. Random character. I say hello and she ends up joining the gang and the party.
There's a bottle filled with what looks like luminous green fluid: Absinthe. 80%. Say goodbye.
I wake up in daylight on a random sofa, blankets and sleeping bags draped over me.
I depart and walk to Boston Tea Party and treat myself to scrambled eggs on toast with salmon and a massive mug of tea.
The sun is out and it's a beautiful day.
I decide to walk back home.
It's 5 miles.
Tunes come on my headphones that are from the period of mum's death and the subsequent days.
I get depressed and misty eyed.
Near the end of the walk I have to hike up a massive hill. I try to take a short cut and enter a labyrinth of streets... and actually get lost and totally disoriented. The lingering Absinthe and whisky in my system isn't helping me. I end up asking an old granny putting her bins out for directions to the main road. I find the main and discover I'm almost opposite my house. Surreal.
The house feels alien. I feel glum and my mind keeps conjuring images of mum... I miss her. And I suddenly miss the house, and Jesmond, and I want to be there. And at some point this year it'll be sold, and it'll be gone.
Hot bath and mugs of tea dispel my feeling of gloom.
Then I resume my love affair with driving the silver Rocket... hood down... Russian tank hat on... Theory of a Dead Man and 30 Seconds to Mars blasting out.
I drive and drive and feel good. The air is freezing but the hat keeps me snug. The sun is hot on my skin.
Stopping for a coffee with Doc Toc the lack of movement catches up on me and I crumple into a hangover.
So now I'm home, taking it easy. But there are new names and numbers in my phone; new contacts and people to meet; new stories to hear and more laughs ahead.
I can still write and make progress with the new novel, but no longer at the expense of my social life.