When You're Smiling...

During my London days, after a particularly good night out--be it at Bloomsbury Square or at one of Peter's dinner parties, or perhaps at the writer's group or after a good after-work drink session with my publishing peeps, I'd often wander around London until the wee hours with headphones on. Be it Earls Court or East London, Bloomsbury or Brick Lane, be it midnight or two a.m. or five a.m., I never felt more the flaneur than when I was skipping down the empty cobbles. Sure it was dangerous, but when you're drunk or high or both or sexually satisfied you just don't care.

I'd often have Judy Garland in my cd player--Live at Carnegie Hall. I'd walk through the University of London complex from Peter's flat on Regents Park to Bloomsbury Square. And I'd sing! At the top of my lungs! "You Go to My Head", "Puttin' on the Ritz", "The Man that Got Away"...I didn't care if anyone heard me or saw me or zeroed in on me as a likely mugging victim. I was happy and I was singing.

It's telling then that after a good happy hour with B last night (that stretched long past happy hour), I found myself walking toward Nicolett Mall with a strong desire to sing. I turned on Judy, and I sang the entire walk. Runners passed me, so did blokes on bikes. The final stragglers from the Ing building hurried past me nervously. I sang the entire way, slightly drunk and happy.

Posted by jason at October 13, 2024 10:49 PM