My third and final night in 5th Avenue, and no different. I felt no desire for anything (anyone). Last time I had been stunned by Brazilian Diane; the time before by Moroccan Leyla; but this time no one. It is the luck of the draw. This is the roulette. Probably just as well. Makes it easy to go home; and no great desperation to come back. In that sense, a very successful visit. Finally my first Brussels Grill of this trip. The non-stop rain turned out to be a very weak spray of rain. Like an eau de perfume mist of rain the whole time. Steak. Steak. I can smell it. I want steak. I’ve been surrounded by floozies for 3 whole days and I’ve not wanted any of them as much as I want this steak. That says it all.
Yes, I tell myself please please go to these places like Fifth Avenue sober for a change, so for once I can actually feel something when I have sex; but it is only when I feel really wild with drink that I want to do anything with them, and it is in the WILDNESS that I get my high. I need to feel that wildness, otherwise there is no point. So I will go on having numb, zero-sensation sex with no ejaculation. How incredibly happy I feel in the rain. Coming out of Cine Paris the first spots of rain started to fall on my head. My spirits soared immediately. Alas, it only lasted for a minute or so and by the time I got here to Fifth Avenue it had already stopped, and blue skies come out. Two rubbish films in Cine Paris. I bemoaned the constant diet of Dorcel films but when he shows something different they are always worse.
I would like to go to City2 to buy some more shoes for myself but they seem to think it is still high on the list of targets for “jihadis” planning their next pathetic “outrage”; it would be just my luck to get killed nipping in for a pair of shoes. A grey day but seeming to be brightening, unfortunately. I hope it darkens again and starts pelting down.
Back in the Max Hotel, and oh I cannot help thinking “Home Sweet Home”. It started raining as soon as I started walking down from Gare du Nord. Lovely. I’m not sure I’m ever happier than when in Brussels in the rain. We will see if there is ANY excitement for me later to justify this. Vienna was disappointing last time, Berlin was massively disappointing (the final nail in the coffin I’m afraid); Brussels can you salvage anything for me? F—king Gareth Bale. F—king Daniel Sturridge! At last. England’s luck has changed.
Off the Eurostar, bag in locker (4,50) and in L’Orient Express by 12.29. My Berlin train leaves at 225pm. My first beer of this trip. Ice cold Jupiler (25cl, 1,80). Incredible. I literally just came out of the station and crossed the road in the heat and blazing sunshine. Now sipping my first beer, it is lashing down with rain, from dark skies. That came out of nowhere. Ah, the glory of Brussels in the rain!
I was wrong to say the Boulevard Adolphe Max xmas lights are up but not lit up; even in daylight I can see the lights ARE still on. The Hairy Nights are over. The Smoky Nights are over. The Winter Solstice festival is over. I am weak and have a 4th can of Jupiler before I go out. I’m really waiting for it to start raining I think. How I love going out in the rain. Rain, fog, snow—for desperately shy people like me, these weather conditions are such a massive lovely relief. I genuinely feel LOVE for rain, fog and snow. They calm my nerves—even at my old age I have never lost my shyness and self-consciousness when sober. No.1 reason for my reliance on alcohol. In intimate encounters, on a 1 to 1 level, I am much more confident and at ease and aware of my power, it is true; but still, every time I open my front door and step onto my front path, I feel excruciatingly self-conscious. Stupid, stupid, stupid! But it never leaves me. Why I love winter, darkness, dark by 4pm. Why I dread return of bright nights, spring, summer. Too much brightness. Too much visibility. There must BE other people like me, right? People so self-conscious they crave darkness, rain, night, fog? A red cap and a black cap soldier going up this time—they seem to be mixing their regiments now. And yet, is it true to say people this self-conscious CANNOT be bad people? This level of self-consciousness means you must be a sweet, nice person? I have never met a really nasty piece of work who lacked confidence. My self-consciousness and perpetual expectation (not fear) of rejection consequently make me kind and gentle to other people. And let me re-iterate, it is not a FEAR of rejection, because I don’t care if you reject me or not because I don’t want anything to do with these —– in the first place, but it is a quite natural, ever present, in every second, EXPECTATION of rejection. It does, I think, make me always kind and helpful to everyone I meet; I do not want to be a rejecter. Except if someone tries to get close, of course, but that is different. Blue skies now, no sign of rain.