Scientologists, birthdays and Slime: an epic journey.

[reddragdiva]

The day started with a surprise visit on the Scientologists. Whereas the December demo is always widely publicised, just showing up is the general practice the rest of the time. Two pints at Xenu's Secret Lair beforehand, then wander on down. We have a sound system - a vocal PA with a tape player. Sometimes it is used for such Burroughsian thrills as playing a thirty-second loop of Hubbard at them for half an hour. Though this time two of us just took turns announcing at them. "Demonstrating ah-gainst Scientology. It's a ripoff, it's a scam. Ask what they did for Charles Manson." I handed out leaflets like a leafleting thing. A lot more leaflets out than last time, about 300 all up. Warmer than last time too.

The great thing about Scientology is the immense weight of bureaucracy. We showed up around 1:15pm and they didn't send anyone out to counter-leaflet until half an hour later. Because they had to call their bosses, who had to call their bosses, and wait back for the approved response. Then they went back inside at 2:45pm, leaving us outside and active until about 3:30pm. We have no idea why.

Back to Xenu's Secret Lair for a couple more pints, then to Camden to get birthday cards for androktone, jezebel_z and childeric. Stopped in at Resurrection and bought Futureperfect. Just tear up my trad card now, okay. (I made a resolution in December to buy one new record a week - keep the collection fresh. So far I've been managing one a month.) Then to the Dev for another beer (Beck's constitutes a drinkable lager) with cyberpunkgrrl, perverse_idol and corsetboy. Hi also to gothicbarbiecat and untermensch.

Staggered on down to the Purple Turtle for androktone's birthday bash. They were playing Hard House (crap techno). There were little boxes of Lego and plastic Slinkys on every table, for munters to play with. The Turtle still does not stock beer, so I made do with an Asahi. incy and squiddity were there when I got there. Bekki finally showed up around seven and we hung out for a bit. Then left in a screaming rush to get to Dr Trafford's do ...

childeric's fifteenth birthday dinner was at Maghreb, a fantastically good Moroccan restaurant in Islington. Roll call for the meal: me, sushidog (who must come to London more often!), the birthday boy childeric, moomintroll, the other Simon (of no LiveJournal), thepaintedone, laurelei, ladymoonray, zoo_music_girl and steer.

I can hardly believe how good this meal was. I had a soup starter ("Harira. A traditional Moroccan soup made with tomato, chick peas, coriander, celery, vermicelli, cinnamon and ginger") and a chicken pastilla main. Also nicked some of sushidog's salmon, which is the thing I will be having next time I go there. And there will be a next time. Ice cream to finish, but a sample of sushidog's honey and butterscotch pancake had me writhing in ecstasy in my seat in a suitably comic manner. If sex could actually be put into food form ...

Back to Simon's flat, where mircea, nils, shekhmet and mr_flay came along as well. Far too much wine, far too much hair metal, probably enough pictures of zoo_music_girl's new leather trousers, far too many pictures of mircea and shekhmet rolling around on Simon's bed (philosophical question: is it a faux lesbian photo shoot if one of them is an actual lesbian?), several of shekhmet's dwindling stock of cloves, far too much vodka and orange, and the splendid company of wonderful people.

And prunes. Simon thinks prunes are a good party food. Just say no.

Then a short walk down Upper Street to Slimelight, where I had been hoping in particular to catch up with androktone and jezebel_z. Neither of whom were there when I arrived at 4:30am. By this stage I had been alternately drinking and caffeinating for sixteen hours, and was utterly drained of any ability to socialise. (Yes, this is one of those things that Does Not Happen.) Said hi to a few people, waved vaguely to some others and failed to sustain any sort of conversation. My apologies to anyone I didn't chat to or possibly even notice - I wasn't actually present except in body. Did manage to speak to green_faeries, crystalfayre and Maryanne, the sociologist from a couple of weeks before. (If she comes up to ask you about goth, do be helpful - she's a real sweetie.)

I gave up on the social life and spent a few hours on serious gothercise. Downstairs dancefloor had no slide at all - perhaps someone cleaned it. Upstairs dancefloor, slick with munter sweat, was Just Right. The music was utter rubbish, but at a usable BPM and without the strain of trying to talk to anyone. I think the boots broke my feet in quite thoroughly.

One thing I didn't mention from last week. shekhmet and I were chatting in a booth near the downstairs bar. Next cubicle over, one young lady who'd had quite a few too many was busy throwing up on the floor. Not mildly, but with spectacular projectile pukes. In full and glorious view. This was not cleaned up all night. It was gone by this week, though the floor in that area was unusually slippery.

I should say something good about Slimes too. In a major plus point, the upstairs toilet has four new cubicles. Not that flushing or not pissing on the seat is within the power of the top floor habitués' muntered little branes.

Slimelight is a disgusting shithole. But it's our disgusting shithole. Er, yeah.

Today has, of course, been a writeoff. CRASH.

And happy birthday to redcountess :-)