The Drunk, the Homeless and the Money Plant

So I was going to play a gig in Camden last night. I texted 10 of my friend but only 3 showed up, which was already depressing by itself. Anyway, we had a few drinks, watched some poetry readings and some good bands - some guy playing punk with a banjo - and everything was good. I remember feeling a little restless about playing. Usually I get nervous. The first time I ever played I was sweating and blushing like a mother fucker; I thought I was going to throw up all down my bass then drop dead in a big pool of vomit, sweat, piss and crap and I would lie there for years in the venue but my nails and hair would continue growing even though I was dead, like some Egyptian mummy. Last night wasn't like that though, I just wanted to play. I remember going to the bathroom at the venue and being like 'Man, I can't wait to get up on that stage and just rock out'. However when my turn came, we had technical difficulties - some wire in the pickups of my bass might have broke, or the speakers weren't compatible with the bass level, but whatever the fuck happened, I played one song then had to leave the stage and let Kevin play the rest of the gig by himself. Man, that pissed me off big time. I spent the rest of the night getting wasted with my friends and apologising for dragging them down there for nothing.

5 beers down and 1:30 in the morning we're standing by this guy selling food; burgers and tea and stuff, when I see this homeless woman walk by. She has a shaved head and is pushing her stuff around in a shopping trolley, her big blue checkered bags tied together with string just like the peasants from the countryside do in China. She's holding a stack of Big Issue magazines and, making a little nest for herself on the kerb, she settles down and waits for someone to buy a magazine. Now, I never usually give money to homeless guys because in London, they're either on drugs, or they're nuts - though the guys who sell the Big Issue seem to be legit; they are making an effort to work for the money which they get to keep. There was something about this woman (perhaps it was the alcohol, I don't know) that appealed to me and I just felt like doing something good. I didn't have enough change on me for a magazine, but I asked her if she wanted something from the vendor. She thought about it for a second and then said 'Tea, no sugar' and so I bought her a tea. I offered her some food also but she said she pointed to her bags and said was fine. I guess she had a stash hidden away in there. She thanked me for the tea and my friend Oliver said it was 'very Christian' of me, in which I objected saying it wasn't Christian, just an act of humanity.

I arrived home at 2am - drunk and with a semi-angry girlfriend who was worried because I'd missed her calls. Apparently I snored and kept her up all night so she didn't sleep well and had to wake up early. I was hung over and slept until 2pm and got very little done today, though I did apply for the position of Exhibition Assistant at the Science Museum. I really hope I get that job, though with my luck it probably won't happen.

Just to let you know, Freddie - I just found out - is a Crassula Ovata, or 'Jade Plant', or 'Money Plant' which I think is a cruel name, especially in this economic climate and the fact that I'm unemployed. Why can't they have called it an 'Unemployed Friend Plant' instead of rubbing financial poison in my face. According to Wikipedia, I've apparently been watering him too much over the last few weeks. I've laid off now and am going to let him dry out and get plenty of sunlight, though it's going to be hard to resist picking him up and holding him with me in the shower. Maybe I should move him to the kitchen... I don't like showering alone.