I thought I’ve got to try something different, to shake myself out of this torpor—so I took my fourth can of Jupiler back to my room and drank it while enjoying some porn on my computer. ALSO with the music channel on my TV. EVERYTHING suddenly felt more exciting. Porn on its own is boring; drink on its own is boring; by combining the two I felt so much more turned on; AND even the boring music channels sounded better. Everything suddenly started feeling better. I suddenly started to remember something of the old excitement I used to feel when staying in my Vienna or Berlin hotel rooms. Rock Star—Post Malone—the first good song of the trip. Now I enjoy my first Stella back in the Café du Dome and am rewarded by one of the pretty barmaids I remember from long, long ago. Not wonderfully voluptuous Aisha, sadly, but one of the pretty, slim, dark-haired Moroccans. So I’ve learned something today, or reminded myself of something stupidly forgotten—watching porn is no good on its own; drinking is no good on its own; I have to do both together, and if there is music playing as well even better. Why strip pubs are so addictive, of course.
On my 7th can of Jupiler in the Max lounge; crazy man. 124! But let me have these last two beers, go on my little crawl (about which I will say nothing) then back for a last couple of beers in an early afternoon Fifth Avenue, just in case by some fluke there is some unexpected diamond there on a Sunday afternoon, then back for a Brussels Grill AND pizza. Yes, Sunday is for a WALK, then a PIG OUT, then deep sleep. Absolutely BLAZING blue skies, not a cloud to be seen. I did NOT expect this. Appalled. I REFUSE to go out unless it rains. If I had any toys left in my – year-old pram, I would throw them out NOW. But, oh, Brussels is still a lovely little getaway from London. When I die you can bury my head in London, my heart in Vienna, and my poor little shrivelled engorged penis in Brussels; or any variation thereof.
Oh Christ, blue fucking skies now. Rain more unlikely than ever. Very very disappointed. On my 4th beer 1115AM. Men wearing gloves in weather which is really not that cold; footballers wearing gloves—ditto. Discuss. I have a policy, even if my hands are really fucking cold, I will not put my gloves on unless I see at least two other men wearing them first. No one wants to be the only man wearing gloves. I’m afraid even if my fingers are fucking freezing off, I feel too self-conscious to put my gloves on (and they are only fingerless gloves at that). One is terrified of looking weak. Similarly I will carry a little umbrella in the rain but will only put it up if it is really lashing down. 1221 Six cans down. Still here in the Max. Not much option on a Sunday. Not really interested in going to O’Reilly’s for an Irish Breakfast OR a beer—they are too expensive; 450 a pint. No. Let me keep on buying my 1,40 cans of Jupiler from the shop next to my hotel for a while longer, then start my pilgrimages (maybe). Even back home in London I am an afternoon person; I like to start my drinking by 11am or 12 midday at the latest, back in bed by 5pm at the latest to sleep. It is how my Eros must adapt. In Vienna at least I can then go out after midnight to Manhattan or Tete, of course. Brussels does not really have this option. And Berlin died a long time ago.
Going to Brussels Grill for my customarily gorgeous steak (though the salad disappointed me, just a massive pile of bland lettuce leaves) BEFORE Fifth Avenue was a success—it meant I could drink and drink as much as I liked in Fifth without being desperate to get away to eat. Inna was there looking as sexy as ever, and Emily again in TINY little red cardigan top which left all her midriff bare, tiny denim shorts over black patterned stockings. Very very affecting. Especially when she sat in the chair facing me a few feet away with her knees drawn up to her chest, giving me an unbelievably tempting view of her groin area. Again, though, she left just after 4 o’clock and temptation was once more withdrawn. Apart that the blonde Perrie Edwards girl came in; like slim Emily even she has put on a LITTLE bit of weight, to make her slightly more tempting, but still not enough I think. And that was really it. After Fifth I returned briefly to Cine Paris then had a McDonald’s before bed and my McDonald’s receipt has a time of 545PM which suggests I left Fifth around 5, again far too early on a Saturday afternoon to stand much chance of seeing any big hitters who probably don’t turn up till 7 or 8. I had a feeling I caught a glimpse of Leyla arriving at the back, but she then kept out of sight avoiding me, no doubt. I do not blame her. I would avoid myself if I could. So that was it. I woke five past midnight, tried to force myself out to Empire but my body just would not move so that was my Saturday over and done with.
So do they have moped attackers in other cities, or is this just a repulsive London phenomenon? And the even more vile acid attacks? 1132 on my third Jupiler Yes, my plan today was get drunk SO early that I will have time to eat, come back, pass out, wake up, and shake off hangover enough to head back out around 8pm for a second go at Fifth, Cine Paris. A ridiculous hope. I am too old for the TWO drinking sessions in the same day. It was hard enough when I was in my thirties. Anyway, I am lucky these days I never feel loneliness, sadness, depressions; I am always just looking forward to the next drink, next stripper, next floozie, next porn cinema. You can scorn that, but these are the things that give me pleasure, and keep my happy enough, so what could be better than that?