Pynchon

Back home. Long night. Not a particularly long night, actually. I had finished the night at about 12am. I couldn't stand anymore.

I am here. Drunk (of course). I have had a Banana for the Potassium and a pint of water for the Dehydration, but it's difficult to type accurately. Thank God for spell checkers, and all that.

We started off in Poppy Red, in the Arcadian centre. Lorraine did not attend. She claimed food poisoning. I had never been to Poppy Red before. Apparently Poppy Red is quite expensive, but as I do not go to that many bars, I cannot make a sensible comparison. Orville was propping up the bar with Bill Broad. Nobody else had arrived yet. I shook Orville's hand. He bought me a drink. I drank it. I bought a round of drinks. More people arrived. Drinks were consumed. We slagged off the Company. Orville asked me if Terry Pig had had a word with me yet. I told Orville that he had not. Apparently Orville had had a word with Terry about my feelings towards him and Terry had promised he would have a clear-the-air discussion with me. Yeah, right. Whatever. My Brother, Elvis and Donovan arrived. I introduced them to my work colleagues.

Vicky Sunshine arrived.

High heeled boots, blue jeans, some kind of large belt, tight black top. Long hair. A bit of eye makeup. Tasty enough to eat. She came over to me.

"You OK, John? Thanks for coming."

I watched Vicky all night. Drinking wine, laughing, flirting, captivating, on the dancefloor giving it large to De La Soul's "Three Is The Magic Number". My Brother asked me, who the girl with the tits was. (Perhaps we like the same kind of women? How strange is that?) I told him. He said that she was hot. He was right.

I drank some more. And then I drank some more. My Brother said that he was going to move onto O'Neills and I told him that I would catch up in half an hour. I drank some more. Time passed. I went over to Vicky, who at that point was standing by herself, and said

"I love you, you know."

And she said (you'll like this)

"I know, but nothing was ever going to happen, was it John?"

No. I don't suppose it was.

She kissed me on the cheek. I wished her the best and told her to keep in touch. Then I leant in and said, "Never look back, Vicky, and regret nothing" and I was gone.

At O'Neills I drank some more. We moved onto Reflex in the Arcadian Centre, which was piss poor and then onto the Sunflower Lounge which was very boring except for the very cool film of Bridget Bardot that they were projecting onto the walls and the guy at the bar who thought that he was Liam Gallagher, and then we moved onto Reflex on Broad Street. I drank some cocktails. I drank some shooters. My Brother bumped into a guy and spilt the guy's drink and the guy became lairy. I told the guy that we were

"The Fucking Pynchon Brothers, who will fucking destroy you totally if you fucking want to take us on"

and I meant it, until my Brother, who is Iceman (I told you so), bundled me away and insisted I get a taxi home.

Home. Lorraine was in bed, but awake. I asked her if she wanted sex. She didn't. I ate a Banana and had a pint of water.

Good night, eh?

I am a wanker. I am a cunt. I am a spoilt child. I do not deserve the good things that I have. I am a twat. I cannot accept good advice. Like Hercules it is only a matter of time before I bring everything down.

Goodbye Vicky. I love you.