You know that point on a Sunday afternoon when you're sitting around with your buddies chatting about/trying to remember last night's activites and all the random stuff that went down? I found myself wondering why I'd never thought to keep a record of them for at least reminiscense, but also for sharing with all the people out there that just like reading obout pretty much pointless occurences. So with that said I know intend to account for my nocturnal sojourns and all the incidents along the way...thus here marks the start of The Chronicles Of A Boy Town.
Our first episode commences two days ago on a night out in Clapham. Now, I know what you're probably thinking..."Did he just say Clapham?" Well yes that is indeed what I said...but in my defence, it was thrust upon me & not a location of my choosing. I don't generally go out in that part of London, by reputation it's not my kind of place. The tales I hear are generally of perma-tanned, mini-skirted, leopard-skin clad ladies being preyed upon by bankers with bourgeois lifestyle aspirations. All of this being set within meccas of flashing lights, funky house and exorbitantly priced, saccharine cocktails. I suppose it is the ideal setting for decadent Saturday night debauchery...just not the particular variety I usually seek. But in spite of my sometime tendency for scepticism, I kept an open mind...as I genuinely believe that there's always a way to have fun...even when circumstances are far from ideal. Anyway I'm not quite sure how it came about, but somewhere along the line we hatched a plan to liven up the night by adopting outlandish alias monikers & equally ridiculous occupations. Hence I was reborn Tarquus Hamilton (a first name which a good friend of mine created and was subsequently displeased with my usage of), and accompanied by my comrades Noah Zyland, Julio Roriguez and Chuck Ledell.
Thus we embarked on our adventure, equipped with our freshly created pretenses, for our destination: a club-meets-bar type "trendy" establishment called Aquum. My earlier preconceptions were affirmed upon entry, it was exactly how i thought it would be: lecherous, ludicrously shallow and filled to the brim with superficiality. However, my predisposition swiftly ababted (with the aid of much Sambucca) to be replaced by carefree merriment and tomfoolery as our aliases began to shine. Undoubtedly, such role playing is incredibly puerile but I have to say we had a lot of fun...and the names went down quite a storm! The majority of girls that I chatted to complimented me on my unusual and sophisticated name, much to my surprise and pleasure. It's quite strange that unique names can induce such curiousity and facilitate the most interesting of conversations. I do feel a touch bad for the deception, but it was all meant in the spirit of good fun and without the slightest malicious intent. So if any of the girls that we encountered happen to be reading this, I do apologise and request your forgiveness. Except to the girl whom I told that I was a trainee astronaught...I can't be blamed for such gullibility. You cannot in fact become a space cadet by applying via nasa.com!
The moral of this brief story is: Fake names are good...and funny. Experiment and be creative with them. On a night out we all project a persona that we want people to see, so what's wrong with a little imaginative alteration to spice things up? Try it out...it'll open up a whole new world of possibilities to otherwise dull events!
Oh and negative preconceptions in general are never useful, they only act as a hinderance. If everyone was more open to the unknown/things we think we might not like, we'd probably all lead way more interesting lives! So the next time you read of The Chronicles Of A Boy About Town, expect to see a far less judgemental attitude on show!
Big love
xx
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