Archive for July, 2009
by Suzanne on July 8th, 2009
In case you were wondering: Yes, I’m currently struggling with what I’ve personally identified to be a degenerate East End variant of H1N1. Here in Bethnal Green you never really know what exactly you’re dying from, but you sure are constantly, constantly dying. Which of course doesn’t mean that you can’t go down to Iceland and buy frozen squirrel meat for your 8 children.. oh.. whooops.. it’s 9 now.
The Italian guy from Boots (I just call him Giuseppe because he probably calls me Heidi) over the road, however, believes that it’s only a “mild cold” and back home, mamma would just feed him with oranges from the family garden until he got better. The same gentleman also doesn’t like me buying their super plus tampons because “petite women shouldn’t do this to their bodies and use the minis instead” (I’m about a head taller than Giuseppe..). I actually had to unwrap a Boots® mini tampon and hold it against a q-tip for comparison to make Giuseppe understand that mini tampons were actually invented to stop infant nosebleeds. Anyways, I guess it’s kind of reassuring that Giuseppe knows all his customers’ body orifices and the strength of their blood-flow.
So just when I felt all poorly, abandoned and altogether sorry for myself, I suddenly had a crystal clear reoccurrence of the most perfect moment in my life ever: Budapest, September 2006.
Being there at the time, it didn’t seem significant at all, but in retrospect I now know that I’ve never been more at peace with myself and the world than in this really massive labyrinthine complex of industrial clubs/squats somewhere on the outskirts of town where I didn’t understand anyone (the Hungarian language fascinates, puzzles and scares me to this day) – surrounded by all those strange androgynous faces and tall Eastern European bodies all dressed in black.
Everyone was so damn perfect, so pure and proud, so challengingly arrogant and oh so sensuous. I wish I could remember the name of the place, but I’m somewhat sure it doesn’t even have a name. They had some kind of half-hour Cure half-hour Depeche Mode night going on and all the songs were playing in order of my preference and I sang my soul out and danced myself into oblivion so that I’m not even sure anymore whether that night really happened or whether this is just another fever hallucination.
You know, there is one thing that’s undoubtedly worse than death: Tesco’s Lemon & Ginger tea. It’s infernal.
Stay well everyone!