I'm sat in the park wrapped in my autumnal tweed & scarf. My mind is a hazy shade of something & it feels like my hangover is relapsing.
It's Sunday & feels like it, in all it's Sunday best.
The Beach Boys pose "Wouldn't it be nice?" to me in Californian tones under Tokyo Skies & I watch as Japanese Rockabillies dance out of time to my own private soundtrack. I ponder the rhetoric & think about last night;
The marriage of 2 of my favourite people. A day they'll never forget, nor me neither. A day where all the rain in the world couldn't wash their love away. I know now it never will. There are chants, toasts and speeches. There is food & drink & photos taken. There is laughter, there are tears & there is, of course, love. There is always love.
One party becomes another & another, an endless supply. Even after the happiest couple in the world tonight fall, exhausted into their first matrimonial bed, my merry band of renegades & I press on til dawn- toasting their happiness & all ours as we dance & laugh & sing & bowl.
The Bride & Groom went home to grow old together on a single pillow.
The others went home together, carrying love in differing weights.
Jpop went home heartbroken.
I went home alone... but hopeful...
Which is how I find myself now, waiting in a fading afternoon for a girl to arrive & she's already late.
An evening lies ahead that speaks of walking through the park amidst sodium lights & shadows; of talk & laughter; of drinks & home-cooked meals in pubs where no one sings Joy Division covers & we wonder why. & she'll know what nail polish Mia Wallace wears & wear it; An evening where maybe we'll kiss & maybe she'll say the sexiest thing a girl has ever said to me.
But right now I'm waiting to see if she really is worth waiting for & I can't think of a better way to be spending sunday.
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