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The Visitor |
Friends & Foes
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The Mill Hill Crew Pt. I: Ramteen
There are those friends in your life that you grow up with during your days of adolescence, lose contact with them for awhile, then get to know them again and find out that a lot of things have changed. Whilst Ramteen changed, deep down he remained the same. Got to give credit for that.
I met Ramteen in Hendon Prep. What the British call a public school, but technically it isn't because it isn't owned by the government and you have to pay fees. Ramteen and I got along because of one thing: humor.
During breaks we'd convene in the school yard talking about the funniest lines and moments from Jasper Carrot, Red Dwarf, Bottom and any other TV comedy that caught our attention. We'd talk for hours over the jokes and sketches that these shows gave us. Especially Red Dwarf. Shit, we both even bought the spin off single, Tongue Tied, when it came out.
Then we both went to the same GCSE school, and things were different. He was boarding, I was a day student, and kids were cruel fuckholes that deserved to be shot. And it wasn't like Ramteen didn't have enough problems at home, which I won't delve into (although, rest assured, he was not beaten or anally molested).
By the time A levels and Uni came we had gone our seperate ways, and somehow met up again, and things sure had changed. For starters, I never knew that you could shave sideburns into thunderbolts leading to your goatie, but I guess he proved me wrong.
But even with his sudden transformation into an 'innit' kid, as I like to call it, he was still the same Ramteen.Except this Ramteen had the pleasure of fucking a hot Californian customer in the changing rooms of the clothes shop he worked at when he went to the States for a stint.
Last I heard he was designing websites with marijuana logos. Hope the buggers alright.
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Proud Americans Pt. II: Andrew
Andrew was another guy I met at the same era as Ted, during the first year of uni. Unlike Ted, we stay in touch from time to time, where he tells me of his exploits in New York and Seattle, whether it be the trials and tribulations of trying to be a playwright or his mental girlfriend raping him in order to impregnate herself so that he'd have a reason to stay with her.
Every single one of Andrew's e-mails were an absolute gem. If I could write like that dude could, I'd no longer worry about my supposed skills as a writer. This boy could WRITE.
Example: for his birthday, myself and a group of his closest friends for that year were given a script. We read the script in the kitchen of the halls accompanied by wine, beer and vodka. The script was about his birthday, being sat around a table with his closest friends for that year in the kitchen of the halls accompanied by wine, beer and vodka. The only difference between reality was that none of those involved ended up performing any of the political acts mentioned in the script. It was a powerhouse tour de force of Nietzsche-ian philosophies and alcohol. In the script, I overtook the government and became Prime Minister. Cool.
I've got video footage of Andrew looking longingly at this girl called Amanda, in case anyone's curious.
I think Andrew was the only guy where we all got together and made a kick ass going away present for him. I think the fucker cried. How sweet.
Either way, here's to Andrew. I hope that one day when I go to Seattle, he'll be living his dreams. Or fathering a child he never wanted.
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Proud Americans Pt. I: Ted
Throughout my first year and third year in Uni, there was always an American buddy or two. See, in City University, there are American exchange students who come in for about a year, get to know how the Brits do it and enjoy the fact that it's completely legal to purchase alcohol at a bar at the age of 18. There're a couple of Yanks that I had the pleasure (or in some cases, displeasure, of meeting) and here's one of them: TED.
Ted believed in Chaos. He believed in Chaos theory and that everything, when viewed in the right way, was chaotic. There's no order, just chaos. And one look into Ted's bedroom would make you believe this was true.
Ted's room was so messy he actually received a letter from the halls of residence telling him that his room was so fucked that the cleaning lady couldn't come in to clean it, and if he didn't do something about it, he'd be expelled.
When I went into his room, I found hardly any trace of carpet. To get to the bed, you had to grab the chair nearest the door, place it in the correct strategic position and jump from the entrance to the chair, then to the bed.
His ashtray at his workdesk was a drawer. His ashtray by his bed was the floor, a mound of black and grey ash that looked like Wile E Coyote had just been blown up. His clothes were scattered amongst his books, which were scattered amidst his papers, which were scattered amongst the empty beer cans and month old macaronni n cheese.
And somehow, he knew where everything was. He would stick his hand in what seemed like a random place and pull out exactly what he needed, be it a lighter, a can of beer or a thesis on Socrates.
Ted was also unable to say the word 'bollocks' in the proper way. I actually have video footage of Ted attempting this, which is absolutely hillarious.
"Boo-lox"
"No, Ted, more emotion, like you mean it."
"BOOOOO-LOX!!!"
"Erm, it's bollocks, Ted, not boolox. Try it like this: ball-ox."
"Balloookks!!!!"
"...ok."
Ted was a pretty cool guy.
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