I’m not living in East London anymore. I’ve been meaning to write more about this fact, but I’m so busy with life here, which is basically all about survival – not my own, that of my 13 month old son – that I just haven’t had time. Seriously, it’s just one seemingly endless session of drunken toddling into another room followed by an eerie, optimistic silence and then a thwack! and a howl (the longer the silence between the thwack and the howl, the worse the injury. That silence is torture). Interspersed with the odd tantrum, usually over a remote control, mobile, set of keys, pen or computer mouse. Strangely, never over an actual toy.
I’m trying not to be a neurotic helicopter parent but he now has the agility and determination and utter lack of fear to actually kill himself. Today I thought he’d gone over a mezzanine (he hadn’t). It’s like working 24/7 as the bodyguard of an egocentric, drunk, emotionally volatile midget. And you have to be eternally present, in both body and spirit. It’s exhausting, although also pretty funny at times. So I haven’t had time for much else.
I’m really tempted to finish this blog. But I may somehow evolve it instead, once I work out how. Please just bear in mind, though, that if you are only here for the latest East London club opening (and I rather painted myself into a corner by naming my blog as I did), then you aren’t going to get it here.
But I will try and write more soon. And happy new year.
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