Chopper's birthday meal in Richmond just now. Pleasant, mild inebriation on a Sunday night when I would otherwise be winding down for bed and a week of work. And due to the fact that I spent all day Saturday writing, I felt it quite well earned, thank you very much.
So I leave early. The first to go, in fact. Large Northern Flatmate had cycled down and was going to cycle home, whereas I had to wing it on public transport. (To the amusement of many, Large Northern Flatmate had attached his bike to railings near a riverside pub in Richmond. The Thames then did something I've never seen before: Rise heavily. By the time we came to leave, he had to wade in to retrieve it.
I leave the restaurant and ultimately arrive in Hammersmith. Beginning the long walk home, I become aware of a person trying to get my attention. I take my iPod out of my ears, and am confronted by a young, if frail ginger lady. She seems slightly mental, and is babbling something about her 2-year-old and her mother. I begin to worry that I am about to get involved in someone else's domestic. She continues gabbling and apologising, then says something about her electricity. Then she says, 'Have you got...' and begins to cry.
'How much do you need?' I ask.
'My name's Lorna. I live at 21a...'
'Ok, ok, look, here's £9. That's all I've got. You are going to spend this on electricity, right?'
'Yeah, yeah.' She composes herself. Then, as I began to walk away, she asks if I have a spare cigarette.
I walk off, content that I have helped a panicking lady in her hour of need.
Then I muse that she did seem kinda wired; not quite drunk, more out of her fucking incoherent mind.
I try not to think about what I've done.
We have gained a new employee at work, of sorts. The young lady in question has taken to sleeping next to our warehouse opposite our office, on the main road, where she passes out roughly between the hours of 8am-6pm. It has been quite problematic walking heavy boxes past her prone body, and even more problematic for the middle-classes, i.e., us, to work out her background without having actually talked to her.
An ex-con, my boss is convinced.
Drug addict, claims our driver, who has also added that she's quite attractive, and that "He would" - This, ladies, is the kind of man you tar the rest of us with. I would rather help the vulnerable than sleep with them. Or perhaps I'm just a sucker, as demonstrated above.
I believe our new friend is possibly a drunk, and extremely down on her luck. I want to help, but short of giving her money and coffee as we have done, the only person who can help her, cold as it may seem, is herself.
And finally, a miracle has happened and I've had a date. On Friday night. A ladyperson who isn't blind or desperate or mad, at least not to my knowledge. It went well, and we have agreed to see each other again.
But I haven't contacted her since. This, I'm lead to believe, is The Rules.
Sorry, not mine, just Society's.
Oh, and my stalker, 'Anders Nokram', was at the gastropub tonight. He has flown himself in from Boston, Ma. to admit to his nefarious deeds. Scumbag.