Triumvirate


For the last few days, while I slowly navigate myself into the grooves of 2016, I have been a part of a trio. We have feasted together, drunk together, danced together , watched feminist werewolf films, napped in sofas pushed together to form a den and watched a performance artist fist herself onstage together. A far more London, slumbersome and erudite version of Jules, Catherine and Jim, but with macbook pros... and far less erotic*.

The trio has been composed of two other Gaulier clown students and myself. JL, a well moustached comedian with great panache for word play and vest-tops, and Hannah - an Elizabeth Taylor look-a-like Aussie with skills in Irish Dancing and accent imitation to Mr Ripley-esque proportions. I love them both as they are both comfortable with how tactile and over-excited I am about everything and my constant desire to speak in a fake South-African accent...

It all started when my phone buzzed late one afternoon from Hannah - "I'm catching a bus into London which arrives at 9am tomorrow morning. Can we hang out?".

If there is one thing I love more than anything, it is being a tourguide to travellers who have never visited my city.

This message resulted in what I now look back on as a five night adventure. Hannah arrived in Victoria Coach station last Wednesday morning. After a quick shower in my cosy abode in south london we then went on an escapade around London. I showed her where the most recent stabbings had taken place on my high street, we visited Bar Italia in Soho and watched a drunk man shout at his trainers for half an hour, we walked a pair of lost German boys to the British Museum, I showed her the coffee bar I once got dumped in, we browsed Orbital comics in Covent Garden and discussed what our ideal super powers would be and we ended our 6 mile walk-a-thon in a Brick Lane Curry house where we devoured Saag Paneer and poppadoms before then adventuring to the countryside to look at some grumpy Shetland ponies in a field.

Sometimes, for as much as cinema often bigs up London's romantic clean brick-worked beauty, it is its scabbiness that I love the most - its niccotined gravelled side streets and grubby inartistic graffitti. To truly love a city you have to respect both the beauty and the bleak all in one and look at them both side by side.

JL joined us at some point during this time (I can't quite remember) for the preparations for New Year - and after the night itself, the 1st and 2nd of 2016 were spent with all three of us feeling queasy and still slightly drunk - recalling the blurred memories of the night before.