I get annoyed quite easily, as some of you well know. Degrees of pissedoffness vary, and some of the shit is quite petty but I don’t care.
Take, for instance, Fridays. Getting dressed in the morning, I usually make sure to throw on a collared shirt cos, you know it’s Friday. Joy day. And you don’t wanna limit your options cos some places have a dress code.
Some places being Symphony.
Now, you might say why bovver, don’t bovver, go elsewhere. You haven’t been to Symphony on a Friday night lately. There aren’t many weeds in that garden. DJ Dean will be spinning heavy soul jams. My mates will be there.
But, and there is a but (and you know how I love buts) last week I got quite pissed cos I was sitting out close to the entrance, and could see all the pretty flowers when they came in (including my lovely fiancee).
There I was in my collared shirt and formal shoes, and couldn’t help notice the occasional sneakers here, t-shirt there, and it got me thinking.
feck this shit. What, you know the bouncer? The owner? What the hell? Once you see a place compromise on dress code, it’s going to shit, and I’ll say that to anyone’s face thank you very much.
Another thing … ladies were getting in there wearing the dodgiest shit, not least a crew who came in wearing (velvet) track-suits and sneakers. I mean, really? Really? Women don’t have a dress code? So what if she has a booty, don’t you know how ridiculous that looks in a place pretending to be upmarket?
Anyway, so this morning I said feck it, I’m not going there, I’ll do Stars or Judgement Yard or just get pissed or something. I’ll wear what I damn well want damn you, you ran out of whisky glasses last week, but you never know cos I have a couple of formal shirts down Her flat, maybe I’ll pop in but it don’t mean I’ve forgiven you.
O v-neck sweater, how I missed you so.