I went to
The Insomniacs Ball yesterday. It took place in the London Vaults. There were three stages. Bands were playing from 8pm till 3am, with closing time around 6am. I saw the poor man's Bananarama, also known as The Pipettes. Then I saw the poor man's Libertines, also known as The Rifles. Then I saw White Rose Movement, who were just poor.
Scene kids everywhere. Scene kids who are 17. Scene kids who make me feel old and somebody's parent. Scene kids who take 5 hours to get their 50s hairstyle in place. Scene kids who are too nervous and self-conscious to enjoy themselves. Scene kids who think they are hearing new music. Scene kids who raise their cigarettes in the air, hold hands and shove you because they must get to the front of the stage. Scene kids who are chiselded, clean cut and fuckable. Scene kids who can fit into their younger sister's jeans. Scene kids who don't fight, don't swear, don't drink too much and don't have party faces. Scene kids who live with their parents or in a university's residence. Scene kids who aren't tired from working all day so don't feel like going home by 11pm. Scene kids who party till 6am and don't catch the last tube home. Scene kids who don't watch Sex and the City's first season when they get home because they can't sleep. Scene kids who don't eat cold oven fries found in the kitchen.
Today, the optometrist told me my eye sight had actually improved. It reminded me of the teenage chavs in Westbourne park, almost a year ago, who sniggered that I should go to Specsavers. Turns out they were right. Then Kevin and I shopped for weekend supplies at Summerfield supermarket, ate some burgers with fries and watched
The Reckoning, which was equally interesting and anachronistic. As soon as I catch up with LJ, I'm diving back into Michael Connelly's
The Black Ice.
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