Christian Picnic

Sunday was a great day folks. First I attended church in the morning, after showering and getting dressed. It was an earnest pleasure to see my best boy Dazza there. He’d not been since last year. Everyone was made up to see him. The first thing he did was hug the powerful Christian that is Jenny (who invited me for dinner midweek) and said, “What a woman.” “I agree,” I said. Because Jenny is one hell of a woman. And Dazza is one hell of a best boy.

Jenny is picking me up tonight for a bible session at the Pastor’s house, incidentally. It’s something to do. Appointments are important to keep, and I feel I’m in a position to uphold them now. After the church service we haunted Victoria Park for a Christian picnic. We arrived there late, because Dazza had to go home first for some reason or other. He’s never in a rush to get anywhere, if you know what I mean. He’d be late for his own funeral. I always seem to be waiting for him to do something, but that’s also why I love him, in a way. When we finally arrived there, an hour late, there were only strawberries and Pringles left. I must thank my boy Jon for getting me and Dazza a Ham & Cheese sarnie in.

The church was playing a peculiar game which involved sticks knocking over sticks. It was a confection of skittles and bowls. I decided not to play, instead shouting, “Good shot!” and “Well done!” and “Get in there!” every couple of minutes. It’s nice to spectate from time to time without getting too heavily involved in something. I prefer to view from the side lines rather than play in the game and feel the pressure. I’m afraid of cocking up in front an audience.

When the game was over and the picnickers went home me and Dazza went to the nearby shop so we could get pissed in the park watching dog walkers and revellers come to and fro past us for a couple of hours. We put the world to rights. When I finished my four cans of San Miguel I scooted over to the chippy for some Singapore noodles. They were tasty. Then we made our way to town so Dazza could score some beak.

We drank in the pub until the dealer dropped it off. His dealer looked like a man although she was a woman. I don’t say this insultingly, as she was pretty girly with her long hair, but her features and the way she acted was quite masculine. Not to take anything away from her. For one’s part, I honestly couldn’t be sure one way or the other. But I didn’t mind.

As he met his dealer, my girl Vicky walked in. I introduced her to Dazza, and we were suddenly 3 strong. We had a little clan. We drank a bit together until Vicky invited us to hers. She lives in shared accommodation so we had to sneak in through the back. She put some good music on, rappy, and we got in the mood for some partying together. The lines however were very small compared to the ones I usually have so I don’t even consider them spoiling my clean time. A tiny-tiny bit in company being sociable is nothing like massive fat stripes watching porn at home, in the darkness with the curtains drawn (what am I talking about, I don’t have any curtains!), in isolation with creatures under my flat.

At the end of the night Dazza had a meltdown after walking me home, collapsing to the floor in tears and ringing an ambulance for himself. It hurt me to leave him in that state, but I was anxious to get back inside my own home and go to bed. He texted me today and said it was alright, and I said good stuff.

Thanks for listening. This has been mine and Dazza’s Sunday together. With Vicky too.