Alex James Is Better... (Q March 2000)
I do enjoy reckless cavorting, it's
probably the best thing about huge cities, that new companions are always there to be
found. There are 1000 worlds running parallels in the West End. Everybody passes through
it. Everybody.
There's nothing like waking up in Dalston after three days on the rampage - taking a
running dive at the bright lights to be swallowed by London, alive to the joy of
possibility and be cast gently onto some unusual shore by a minicab.
The cause of most post-alcoholic cringing this seasons has been a drinking game called "Elephant In The Room" and is based on a notion of Ted Hughes's or Sylvia Plath's that there is always an elephant in the room: a subject that looms large but which we dare not mention. There's definitely always is one, and the idea of the game is to get so drunk as to be bold enough to invoke the elephant. Probably best played with strangers.
This month though I've traded the
rock'n'roll rollercoaster ride for a Countdown kind of atmosphere of calmer colours and
subtler pleasures. A week in bed with a pile of books and I felt much better.
It turns out that being sober seems to offer the same ridiculous increase in scope that
being drunk did in the first place; I've hardly got time to finish my jigsaw and suddenly
everything is becoming incredibly organised and stuff's getting done. I'll probably be
using my Palm V by this time next month, the way things are going.
The whole of W11 have disappeared long-haul (economy) to posh destinations and will surely
all bump into each other, I like being here in winter though. It's great staring at the
fire instead of the TV. The scenery's always changing when you're in a band, so it's good
to stay still for a while:changing your habits is just a powerful an experience as
changing your location. Its all good, as long as we're running towards something rather
than away, I guess.
We went clumping around the New Forest coughing, blowing our noses and not feeling very natural. We were starting to think my sister's boyfriend had some spooky business going on, as he seems to spend all his time there. He is drawn to the forest like I'm drawn to Dean Street, but evidently he's been filming it all. We went to a huge badger sett, and he showed us some badger hair. The sett was hundreds of years old. They like living in holes, digging holes and going out at night. It was a source of wonder to contemplate badger business going on all by itself and we returned from where we came with a lighter step. I always imagined I'd live in the country. I suppose most children do.
Enough sever evangelism. The worst thing about being sober is that it leaves you no excuses for being an idiot. I realise now how much nonsense was due to being stupid rather than being drunk. Ho hum, think I'll start drinking again in June. Maybe see you then in Dalston. Cheerio.