Bookshops, Boats and Breaks

“Go on Jon. It’ll be fun. Just like the old days!”

An evening on a boat with two floors of dance music and a top deck smoking area. Old skool (which were Nu Skool at their time) breaks, people I haven’t seen for 10 years.

On a boat.

On the Thames.

In London.

With an after party.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Go on then. I’m in.”   

***

                As the day (night?) approached procrastination began to set in. Procrastination is quite swift for something of its’ nature but it was halted in its steps when I discovered that, ON THE SAME DAY, the bookshop from Good Omens was being recreated in Soho.

                I can’t argue with fate, it’s not cricket (or the ineffable plan.)

                It’s the morning of the day and the night and I’m rapidly talking myself out of it. After all my week has been hectic, I’m watching the pennies (while the pounds dance a merry jig out the door) and I am too old.

“You can’t be too old for a bookshop.”

Fifteen minutes later I am on the way to Reading train station.

I know what this is.

This is excitement.

***

                I’ve had a shower, put on my best jeans (my newest jeans. The least faded with no rips. They go on a sliding scale from “best” down to “painting”) and patted down the sticking up bits of hair.

London, here I come.

It’s hot today and I’m on the 12.21 to Paddington, then the Good Omens bookshop, then the “Back to the Noughties” boat party, then the after party.

                The giddy excitement has returned and if I’m not careful a childish grin will spread across my face like ice cream.

                I’m not.

                It did.

***

                A quick ciggie and a text to Ben (Boat Party Captain) and I’m ready for the Tube in search of a fictional bookshop in Soho.

“Oh my god. He’s actually coming.”

                Ben has been a true friend for probably 16 years although we’ve spoken for possibly only 10 of those so I’m not going to argue with that. Also, it’s true. I am actually coming, via a bookshop.

                I found Azirophile’s bookshop, a shop you could walk past and not notice if it weren’t for Crowley’s Jag outside. On the way I found 3 record stores identical to this “fictional bookshop” in every way except 1) they were record shops and 2) they were real.

I love record shops.      I love book shops.

 I also have a keen interest in pipe shops.

Obviously I know this bookshop is not real. Obviously I know I know the books and props (including a fantastic till) aren’t real (am I convincing you yet?) but the “what if” and “if only” feelings are increasing in intensity.

                I rolled a ciggie and made notes in my book which included:

That was brilliant (complete with whys and whats)

What makes a Trekkie?

Do they know they are Trekkies?

How do you spell Trekkie?

Am I a geek?

                These questions need answers and Google says there is a pub 20 yards around the corner. I opened the door to reinstate my reality. The man propping up the bar shared a joke with me.

“Van Gogh was in here last night.

I said ‘do you wanna drink?’

He said ’it’s alright, I’ve got one ear”

(Better said than written but only marginally.)

                Back to reality and I’ve got 4 hours to get to the boat and decisions to make and it feels like an episode of 24 (or modern equivalents.) Decision made, I’ll head to the Thames and walk it.

                The Thames in the City of London is quite unique to this area. Pollution and grease make a water colour that, if described by a car manufacturer, would be ‘metallic, discordant blue.’ I sat down and rolled a ciggie as a couple walked past. “It’s nice to know you are nasty to everyone I suppose” said the girl in the pink, flowery dress while the glorious sunshine highlighted her every curve as it reflected off her sunglasses.

“I’m the same to everyone” corrected the man dressed in greys and pale blues as they walked along the river, holding hands.

                Lost in my own thoughts and maybe what the thoughts of that couple were i was slapped in the face by Tower Bridge and it’s 4pm. The boat party is boarding at 5.30 so I watched the world in a bar with a member of staff who is on her break. A pint and a people watch and it’s time to head for the boat.

BACK TO THE NOUGHTIES.