Big Weekend Part 1

Well I didn’t manage to get anything written on Sunday. I’ll go in to why a little bit later. Let’s just say I was pretty busy this weekend. My whistle-stop tour of Eastbourne on Friday was quite exhausting. I’d actually intended to take my laptop along so that I could write on the train, and then head back home the next day. However, given that I was definitely going to be having a big night on Saturday, I realised that would be a terrible idea. In other words, I acknowledge the fact that I’m getting older now and probably can’t handle the pace. Or it could just be that I didn’t want to spend the night (alone, I should add) in a bed that wasn’t my own.

After managing to miss both my trains by mere seconds, I arrived in Eastbourne a little latter that I’d hoped, at 4.45pm. Actually, to be completely accurate, I made it on time for the second one, but was told, all too harshly by some Hitleresqe station attendant, that I couldn’t board. After he made his fascistic declaration, there was then at least a 20 second delay before the train left the platform. These little bastards do like to abuse the little bit of power they have. I would have actually ignored him had I not been convinced that the train door wouldn’t have opened if I’d pressed the open/close button. Next time that happens I’ll simply pay the little prick no attention whatsoever. Rude fucker. Anyway, after a 30 minute wait, the next train bound for Eastbourne set off.

I entertained myself on the journey by watching the quite excellent Nathan Barley on my iPod. I’m not sure why, but it all seemed to resonate far more this time round than it did on first viewing. Perhaps, I didn’t pay quite as much attention to the show as I should have. I suspect, however, that it’s more likely that, in the intervening years since first watching it, I’ve simply become more jaded and cynical and, as such, I’m more in tune with the tone of the whole thing.

A little way in to episode four, the train finally pulled in to Eastbourne. Obviously I didn’t see an awful lot of the town, what with it being dark, but I was quite surprised by the comparative lack of pubs. After my friend collected me from the station, I remember seeing only one other pub on the way to our final destination, which must have been a good 750m from our starting point.

The whole idea of the trip to Eastbourne was to help celebrate my friend’s birthday. As it turned out it wasn’t actually his birthday until two weeks later. They’d simply decided to celebrate it that Friday due to the fact that the next Friday was his work’s Christmas dinner and, on the one after that, he’d be visiting his parents in Ireland. In many ways I could have done without going all the way down there on that particular weekend given how busy I would be the following day. Still, in many ways, finding out that it wasn’t actually his birthday came as something of a relief. I’d felt sure that Facebook, MS Outlook or my phone would have reminded me of my friends birthday (one or all three usually did with practically everyone else’s), so it was good to know that my usual technological support system hadn’t actually fallen apart.

Early on, the discussion concentrated on what everybody had ordered for their Christmas dinner and I worried that, for the whole evening, I would be subjected to the esotericism of work based conversation. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case and, as the alcohol flowed, the evening gradually became more enjoyable, especially after I stumbled upon a little more common ground.

That said, by 9.15pm, when I had to leave to get my train back, I was pretty much ok with going home. I suspect I didn’t make a great impression on my friend’s colleagues (most of my jocular comments were greeted only by perplexed gazes), but then again, I suspect that I probably won’t end up seeing them again anyway. I get the feeling that staff are quite transient. Still, it was good to see my mate again. It’s a shame we don’t get the opportunity to meet up more often really.

After a bunch of delays on the tube, I made it back by 1ish and set my alarm for 12pm. I was knackered, but I had to get up in time to collect my Crumpler Crippy Duck laptop messenger bag that the postman had, apparently, tried to deliver the day before. He’s left a card saying that nobody had been in when he called, but since the house had been occupied for the whole of Friday morning, I suspect that he simply hadn’t been able to sum up the requisite intellectual prowess to ring the doorbell and let his presence be known. They do seem to do that a lot actually. It’s not as if the doorbell is cunningly concealed. It’s quite obvious; all you have to do is look.

So, that’s Friday out the way. I think I’ll save Saturday's events for the next post.