Sunday, 12 December 2010
Cannibal serial killers for lunch
‘I thought you’d stopped drinking wine.’
‘Are you working?’
‘Sort of. Mainly I’m just getting myself in a tangle.’
‘You need to get out.’
He had a point. ‘Okay, I’ll go to London.’
‘Great idea. Will you stay with Jane or Liz?’
‘Nope. I’m too weird. I’ll go see Jake and Gerry.’
Sitting at the station with a coffee and my notebook, people kept smiling at me. I have no idea why. I looked up and saw a beautiful woman with long dark hair walking straight towards me, a wide smile on her lovely face. I hadn’t the foggiest idea who she was.
‘Hey stranger,’ she said. It was my friend Nicky. That was the point where I really did start to worry about myself.
Nicky had managed to book a seat in the one compartment with no lights. Instead there were weird little yellow go-sticks stuck on the end of each seat. She was going to London to quit her job and to hold the hand of a friend going through a complicated divorce.
‘How about you?’ she said.
‘I’m having lunch with a couple of writer friends.’
‘Nice. What do they write about?’
‘Serial killers,’ I replied. ‘Well, cannibal serial killers.’
Her eyebrows moved perceptibly upwards. ‘You do know interesting people.’
I nodded. ‘Well, to be fair, I haven’t actually met them in real life before. I met them online.’
‘Okaay,’ she said slowly. I could see images of kinky dating websites flitting over her eyes. Shit, she thought I was going to London to have some kind of transatlantic threesome.
‘A writing website,’ I added hastily.
‘Soooo. You’re meeting two strange men who write about cannibal serial killers?’
‘Only one of them. The other one writes about perfectly ordinary serial killers.’
‘Well, that’s okay then.’
She edged past me into the aisle. ‘I’ll go get drinks.’
I glanced at my watch. It was 9.30am. Ah, what the heck. We sipped Bloody Marys and laughed our heads off, in the penumbra of the cave carriage.
I knew Jake immediately. Well, it’s hard to miss an ex-rugby player in a baby blue ski hat and purple ski jacket. We sat and drank coffee (alcohol and caffeine meeting uneasily and unfortunately not quite cancelling one another out) and tried to find Gerry on Jake’s iPhone. Gerry was flying in from Canada on the red eye and had gone incommunicado somewhere over Newfoundland, unfortunately while I was still dithering about where to go for lunch.
‘He might just turn up at the last pub we mentioned,’ said Jake. And he did. Looking pretty much exactly as he does online (minus the hotdog). He was jet-lagged beyond redemption. I know that spacy feeling all too well (but I don’t need an eleven hour flight to get there).
click here. Not to everyone's taste but I think the guy is uber-talented.
‘You’re exactly how I imagined you’d be,’ he said. ‘Exactly so.’
What? Neurotic, verging on unhinged? I didn’t ask him to elucidate.
‘Your hair is redder than I expected,’ added Jake. 'And you're taller.' I could live with that.
It was good, it was really good. We laughed and talked and whined. Gerry manfully sipped proper British bitter and tried to pretend he liked it. Jake tasted my fruit beer and was perturbed at how much he liked it.
I got onto the train feeling more human than I have in a long long time. No Nicky for my return trip but that was okay. I read two books, did some meditation and stared into the darkness at my reflection, turned witchy. Let songs play in my head (I must get an iPod).
‘Was it good?’ asked Adrian as I finally walked through the door.
‘Yeah, it was really really good.’
btw, I'm still touting for clicks to Next..... though think I've rather lost momentum now. But if you can spare a moment to click the link, that would be lovely....