Friday, August 18, 2006
16.12 Five Minutes Late
On a tiny train stuffed with Blackpool-bound, destined to be disappointed stag & hen weekenders.
With rain & steam making it impossible to see out the window.
With wet feet and just the beginning of a headache.
With Paul Weller on the juke box as the doors finally close - what else am I going to be thinking about?
It's that "third thing..."
A long time ago when I was shockingly naive, transparent and flimsy as cheap cling film, every nerve ending raw with lust, a raging cocktail of confusion & absolute certainty ... there was this Boy.
This SkinnyCoolFuckSexyBoy.
This BlueEyedBoy with a way of looking which not only suggested he could read every thought in my head, but that he was vaguely amused, rather than appalled, by what he read there.
Of course, he was way out of my league.
But cider, cheap white wine and persistence have a strange way of levelling the playing field, so when my chance came I grabbed it with both hands (and we're probably talking literally here, though the detail is a little fuzzy).
Things seemed to be going well, and when he suggested going back to his room I don't think either of us had tea & biscuits in mind.
But then, but then ... but then ... when the crunch came I realised I was out of my depth.
The alcohol evaporated and left me facing the truth - this wasn't meant for me.
What was I thinking?
I made my feeble excuses and left.
The third thing is: I wouldn't run away.
You Do Something To Me - Paul Weller
Late Night Grande Hotel - Nanci Griffith
Too Late For Tonight - Laura Cantrell
Festive Road - the Divine Comedy
Kings Cross - Cinerama
If You See Natalie - Eels
Homesick - Kings Of Convenience
Find The River - REM
On a tiny train stuffed with Blackpool-bound, destined to be disappointed stag & hen weekenders.
With rain & steam making it impossible to see out the window.
With wet feet and just the beginning of a headache.
With Paul Weller on the juke box as the doors finally close - what else am I going to be thinking about?
It's that "third thing..."
A long time ago when I was shockingly naive, transparent and flimsy as cheap cling film, every nerve ending raw with lust, a raging cocktail of confusion & absolute certainty ... there was this Boy.
This SkinnyCoolFuckSexyBoy.
This BlueEyedBoy with a way of looking which not only suggested he could read every thought in my head, but that he was vaguely amused, rather than appalled, by what he read there.
Of course, he was way out of my league.
But cider, cheap white wine and persistence have a strange way of levelling the playing field, so when my chance came I grabbed it with both hands (and we're probably talking literally here, though the detail is a little fuzzy).
Things seemed to be going well, and when he suggested going back to his room I don't think either of us had tea & biscuits in mind.
But then, but then ... but then ... when the crunch came I realised I was out of my depth.
The alcohol evaporated and left me facing the truth - this wasn't meant for me.
What was I thinking?
I made my feeble excuses and left.
The third thing is: I wouldn't run away.
You Do Something To Me - Paul Weller
Late Night Grande Hotel - Nanci Griffith
Too Late For Tonight - Laura Cantrell
Festive Road - the Divine Comedy
Kings Cross - Cinerama
If You See Natalie - Eels
Homesick - Kings Of Convenience
Find The River - REM
