Jolly Merde of a Waning Hangover as the Boys Head on to Boston

Roy and his lovely boyf Jules have come and gone, leaving me to wonder if in fact I have been graced by the unwavering lilt of a Midlands accent or if the entire weekend was merely a dream conjured like a genii from a bottle of Veuve.

No, they were here, because they left behind a dozen curly wurly candy bars and some strange minty shower gel (unintentional, that). Also, several now-empty bottles of Veuve.

I met Roy at a writer's group in London, when I was a lonely American trying to find work and suffering the damp winter, writing a shitty novel among fleas or hanging on to the bar at The Champion. I soon gave up my aimless barfly Friday nights in favor of Peter's dinner parties, where Roy and I often held up both ends of the dining room table. Many a night we'd put our heads together and talk poetry over champagne or coffees, a much-needed commiseration. An amazing poet, a vault for a mind, easily leaping between mathematical concepts and anecdotes about Wittgenstein, between fine food and greasy-spoon patty melts. It had been almost two years since he had last been to Minneapolis, and over six months since I had last been in London to see him, so when he included me on his itinerary for the trip around the states he was arranging with Jules, I was flattered.

The few days they spent here went quickly, even quicker given the booze we imbided. My lips are cracked and chapped from the weekend's dehydration. A little happy hour cocktail party I arranged early on Saturday evening turned into a debauched marathon of bisexual undertones, migraines, histrionic banter with the ex, true confessions, hot showers, sicking up, a mugging, and a long chat over cheese. During the days we managed nice walks in weather that suggests summer has finally arrived, and some superb meals out.

I love it when I chat with Roy because his simple British maxims, spoken in his accent (which will always carry airs of authority for me) cut through my second-guessing bullshitting American neuroses, at least for a time. It all boils down to Roy simply saying, "Well, you just have to get on writing..." As always, he's left behind a syllabus of sorts for me to explore until we meet again.

God I want to be in London again.

Posted by jason at August 23, 2024 09:32 PM