A weekend of ups and downs. Everything up until about 10pm on Saturday was good: out for drinks in ye olde London Bridge on Friday with this one and that one, during which it was established that there are no real Goths, at all, in the whole world - just people pretending to be Goths in order to cop off with Goths who in turn are only pretending, etc. I find this revelation profoundly reassuring, as it explains a lot, and I think it is destined to be integrated into my grand unified theory of subcultures (my life's work, to be published one day as a light-hearted academic romp in five tome-like volumes, as a whole entitled Scene and Not Herd).
Saturday afternoon was also good: sorted out contact lenses for the first time in a year, hooked up with good, good people on their way to and at the Stop The War demo, listened to speeches, sat in the sun, went for drinks afterwards.
And then we had Saturday night - me turning up already mostly drunk to a party I *knew* I needed to watch my drinking at, because of who was going to be there and the potential for events to spiral down into an id-fuelled nightmare of pointless recrimination, unfounded grievances and general ugliness.
It went pretty much exactly as badly as I'd feared. The one exception to this being that another person, with whom I strongly suspect I might have attempted to get into a fight (because I am that much of an asshole), was not present. Suffice to say though, my standing with some people I care about a lot is currently somewhere below that of Jack Straw...
I need to stop doing this. In particular, I need to stop doing it in the company of the exact same people each time, some of whom I know well (and so are more likely to be receptive to grovelling apologies initially, but have also seen it all before and so are more likely to decide that on balance it just ain't worth the hassle), and some of whom I don't, and am now unlikely to if they have a say in the matter.
Even more, I need to stop doing the equivalent of running and hiding afterwards.
"Shame, shame" as they like to mutter in the House of Commons.
Saturday afternoon was also good: sorted out contact lenses for the first time in a year, hooked up with good, good people on their way to and at the Stop The War demo, listened to speeches, sat in the sun, went for drinks afterwards.
And then we had Saturday night - me turning up already mostly drunk to a party I *knew* I needed to watch my drinking at, because of who was going to be there and the potential for events to spiral down into an id-fuelled nightmare of pointless recrimination, unfounded grievances and general ugliness.
It went pretty much exactly as badly as I'd feared. The one exception to this being that another person, with whom I strongly suspect I might have attempted to get into a fight (because I am that much of an asshole), was not present. Suffice to say though, my standing with some people I care about a lot is currently somewhere below that of Jack Straw...
I need to stop doing this. In particular, I need to stop doing it in the company of the exact same people each time, some of whom I know well (and so are more likely to be receptive to grovelling apologies initially, but have also seen it all before and so are more likely to decide that on balance it just ain't worth the hassle), and some of whom I don't, and am now unlikely to if they have a say in the matter.
Even more, I need to stop doing the equivalent of running and hiding afterwards.
"Shame, shame" as they like to mutter in the House of Commons.
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