Moscow Drug Club

‘You need to get out more,’ said Caz.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Sure. But you’re living in your weird fantasy world. It’s not real. You need to see people, do things. You know…in the real world.’

‘What’s real?’

‘Oh for God’s sake.’

‘It’s just distraction.’

‘Then be distracted.’

And I thought, fair enough. Why not? So I went to the pub.  So I went to see Cloud Atlas (at the local cinema where the audience totalled about ten, which is just fine and dandy as far as I’m concerned).  So I went out for lunch. So I stayed in for lunch with an old friend. And I was…yes…distracted. A bit. 

And then I wandered down to the village hall to see Moscow Drug Club, cos Caz had insisted I had to go. And it was…nice.  I bought a bottle of wine cos Caz had said a couple of her friends were going to share a table with us.  But none of them was drinking red so I quietly glugged it myself.  And I ate too - seriously good roast vegetable lasagne and salad followed by lemon tart.

And they played a bit of Tom Waits, a bit of Jacques Brel, a bit of this, a bit of that. They were a good troupe. I pricked up my ears when they announced Leonard Cohen’s Dance Me to the End of Love - a song I love - but they sort of wrecked that, as far as my ears felt. But generally, it was…fine. Nice.

And afterwards I helped Caz hump tables around and she came back for a cup of herbal tea and we sat by the fire and talked a bit. 

And the next day I got an email from her.  And she said: 'It was lovely to see you out enjoying the frivolities of socialising with your community. People were so pleased to see you.'  At which I gave the screen a quizzical look. 

And then she asked me four questions…