THE INTELLECTUAL DON
London is a city of character. Much of its architecture is old and breath-taking at the same time. I personally find the city dull and lifeless. I hate the overpriced shops, I hate that it’s overpopulated, I hate the fact it’s considered a city of culture when it clearly isn’t. It's a massive sham. The mean spirited population of London are a soul destroying experience to deal with. London is full of monsters, monsters posing as respectable citizens. For all its faults, the city does have character, tones of it. It also for me has memories, loads of them. One part of London has a very strong memory, the borough of Hendon to be precise. Each and every time I stroll down its suburban streets, I recall one dark night many moons ago. This was a night when I witnessed the cycle of karma in its most brutal form, a night that still haunts me to this very day.
Education is a powerful gift to most human beings. It can also be a terrible curse to all mankind when bestowed on arrogant bastards. Much of the world’s long suffering population could probably relate to having to deal with over opinionated twats spouting all sorts of rubbish at dinner parties and social gatherings across the globe. They more than likely keep a dignified silence, sitting still. They let the idiot talk, resisting the urge to lunge at the bastard and gouge out their eye balls from their skull.
I had met Pete at a Dinner party at a friend’s flat. I was a novice when it came to social interaction of the more sophisticated nature. I wasn’t raised in a family that enjoyed big extravagant, social dinners. This was something of the beaten path for me and I was looking forward to drinking wine and eating a fancy dinner. This night was to be a huge learning curve. When I say dinner party, It was really a gathering really. It was my friend’s crude attempt at hosting a dinner party. My social circle were growing bored of doing the same thing all the time, so we sought to improve our horizons. We would spend most nights in a pub or playing Nintendo games in a marijuana haze. We had made a commitment, over a few pints, to do something different. The height of sophistication was to host a dinner party. It sounded like a good idea. One of my good pals Rob had a free house and some university mates he wanted us to meet. With his parents on holiday in the glorious location of Sardinia, we had the perfect venue. We hatched the plan for the following Saturday night. The date was set.
This dinner coincided with a misplaced desire I had ill-conceived in my mind. I had been seeking in my life to upgrade my social standing. I loved my friends, but felt I could use some more. When in your early twenties, you don't think you can't have enough friends. Having loads of friends was to me, back then, I foolishly thought, like wealth. My life seemed to be a series of dead ends and wasted opportunities. I saw networking as a way to escape the reality of my dull surroundings.
Having more friends who were smarter, better looking and far wittier then my current clan would be, I thought, the answer to my prayers. I couldn't have been more wrong as it goes. As I was about to find out, the plan in my mind would not work in practicality. Later, in my thirties I realised that you must cherish the few friends you have. Be sure to give them quality time. If they're your friends, they deserve it.
Saturday had arrived and I was quite looking forward to the dinner and meeting new faces. I got to Robs around 8 and saw the usual crowd and the new faces. I introduced myself to two of the new faces. Greg and Zoe seemed pleasant enough. They were polite and smiley. Like all good social events, there was the encouraging sound of wine bottles being uncorked and beer cans being popped open. There must have been about ten people in total. Robs folks were evidently no strangers to entertaining and his dining room had a big table with chairs, a big silver candle holder and some very, very swish cutlery. I shook hands with a couple of my regular friends who I hadn’t seen in a couple of weeks. The last hand I shook was Pete. Limp and cold, I straight away had a bad feeling. You can tell a lot, they say, about a man from his handshake. If somebody can't be arsed to shake your hand, you’re in trouble. Tall, with black wavy hair and bored expression, he had a dim view of Robs 'non uni' friends. It was written all over his face. I initially brushed it off and got into the swing of things. Just before we were about to eat, the doorbell rang.
'That will be my girlfriend' said Pete. Indeed it was. As she walked in, we locked eyes. We had met before.
I had made a ham fisted pass at Charlotte a while back. We were at a rowdy house party in the basement of our mutual friend’s house. She was the original 'Ms Self Obsessed', I thought she was stunning. Dark brown Smokey eyes, tall and well dressed. Her long brown locks were mesmerising and she had beautiful smile. She was, I thought at the time, perfect. Admittedly, she was way out of my league, but in the heat of the moment, I thought my charming conversation could impress this wonderful female. The confidence I had gained from drinking homemade cocktails evaporated when I realised that she had her sights on other guys at the party and could barely register interest in me or my rather dull conversation. I moved on and enjoyed my night.
She had obviously remembered me and mentioned to Pete our previous meeting at some point during the dinner party. The seed of doom in the relationship between me and Pete was sown. I was very impressed with the company and didn’t really register that Pete thought I was an idiot. To me they seemed like people I ought to be associated with, the right people to be hanging out with. They talked knowledgeably about left wing politics, literature and world travel. They were a million miles away from my own clan, who considered football, weed, smutty sex stories and rap music as the complete spectrum of adult conversation.
The meal itself was quite unremarkable. Plates