6:30 am. Six-thirty AM. And I am getting UP not going to bed. Uh-oh. What a glorious, glorious mess yesterday turned out to be. The previous evening's storm was but a distant memory as a day of oppressive and mildly threatening heat and damp air mugged the city. By 3pm I could barely keep my eyes open and was sat at my desk seriously debating whether I could get away with going outside and lying down in the rear seat of the Rover. How would I explain that to my colleagues?
So I gave up at 5pm and took off down to the centre of town, where an important gig awaited me. Important because it was the last gig of a European tour for Mister W, a artist and human being that I care very much about and would love to see obtain worldwide accolade - on his own very humble terms, of course. And it was important because a lot of important people were coming down, people that I felt the need to impress, on behalf of Mister W, so as to enlist their powerful help on his perilous journey. So I had to be "on", as it were, when I was feeling particularly "off".
Trouble started around 7pm when the doors opened and I started getting phone calls from folk complaining that the box office was turning them away and saying there was no guest list. Turned out our PR had neglected to turn it in. Soon remedied, but it cost me about 20 quid in apologetic drinks at the bar. But W. performed a brilliant set, as usual (one thing you can always count on), with the addition of a completely unrehearsed drummer (who at times threatened to overpower the purity of W's plaintive tones, but generally worked out quite well). Afterwards, I "worked the room" and accepted many compliments and salacious offers on W's behalf, the perfect picture of industry networking... I shone.
-C- turned up, and stood on the other side of the venue with some mates, watching me work my mojo. Eventually I made it over to say hello, and I have to admit I was way too happy to see him, and far too disappointed to hear that he was away to a meeting in a few minutes. Make a note, all you eager young music business beavers : your life will never be your own again. Meetings happen at 11pm!! Made plans to get together Thursday, and attempted to gently extract myself from the venue without causing too much offense to the industry types I had be schmoozing with earlier.
Decamped to the bar next door with W. and posse. Had a drink and a giggle with a couple of mates. An old, old friend was in town and on the other side of the bar with A., gesticulating in my direction, so I fought my way across the room, only to be told "we were trying to get W.'s attention, sorry". Ha. You know, when you think someone is waving at you and you wave back, only to realise it's the gorgeous thing BEHIND you that they are engaged with? Yeah, exactly.
Somehow, this simple, innocent little slight just punctured my tyre. All that hot air I'd summoned up to get through the night just evaporated, so I went to the loo to save a bit of face, post-shun, and then held my head high and walked out the bar without looking anyone in the eye or stoppping to say goodbye.
Outside, it was just starting to rain. Thank god. I looked about for a taxi but in the west end of London, when it starts to rain, they are like gold dust. So I decided to walk, not the best idea in heels in the rain, but whatever. Luckily I had a sweatshirt in my bag, because while I like being slutty, my top was entirely unsuited to a capricious downpour, and I wasn't in the mood to attract attention. Rather than go to the closest tube station, I decided to walk across town to enjoy the rain and clear my head. Half way there I had to take the heels off and walk barefoot, which brought to mind those charming 60's films about young, free-spirted women finding their independence (and a husband) in the big city. At some point I noticed a swarthy man in a fedora who seemed to be following me, confirmed when he pushed into the same crowded tube carriage as me and peered out from under his hat. I steadfastly ignored him, jumped out at my stop at the last possible minute to lose him, and was away. Selfish, love-struck couples canoodled at the bus stop, but soon enough I was off the bus and in the front door.
I'm not quite sure what happened next, because I'd only had a few drinks, but suddenly I erupted into a flood of tears of a force I've not felt in years. Obviously, there was stuff building up that just needed to come out. So, I let it. I just felt utterly, utterly wretched and overcome with sadness and self-loathing and all those fabulous, wonderful emotions that fester away deep in our souls until we least expect it. I fell into bed afterwards, exhausted, and slept.
Until 6.30. AM. Waking up with a beautiful puffy face, one of the after-benefits of a night spent weeping.
So, one of the things that I decided to do this morning is cancel my 'date' with -C- tonight. I realised that (a) I am developing feelings for him that extend beyond the scope of FWBs (Friends With Benefits, keep up! keep up!) and (b) that he's not worthy. So I've bravely composed an email (wuss) that I am going to send once I've sat on it for another half an hour or so (it's the "think twice" rule I impose on myself).
Then I'm just going to try to get through the day. I debated taking the day off and wallowing in my own misery and confusion, but W. is here, and leaving on a jet plane for probably the last time this year. And I hate goodbyes. And I would just have to put a happy face on, so I might as well get on with life out the in real world anyway. It's drizzling rain out there, and it's grey and much more like a typical London day, so that should help. Deep breath. Wish me luck....
