I saw the guys out of my door of 25 Boden St into that freezing February night.
We stood there a while, talking non stop at each other in a flurry of enthusiasm.
My usual evening of stoned self indulgence, had been knocked sideways,
I watched them make their way up the road. The steam from their breaths illuminated by the street lamps. The importance of the moment seemed scarily and beautifully tangible.
I made my way back up the stairs to my warm bedroom, completely forgetting I had a girlfriend perched patiently on the edge of my bed, waiting for the next nightly instalment of the ‘Jules show’….., endless guitar riffs and repeated gushings of my latest favourite songs.
I entered my room.
I re-entered my world.
It looked different now.
Everything looked different.
My little nest of cushions on that vile patterned carpet now looked like cretins, losers, beckoning me back to the comfort of being nobody.
The plate with crumbs from my daily cheese on toast supper, were remnants of a different me.
Everything looked small.
I knew my world had changed.
I saw Anya’s eyes rolling as she said something along the lines of ‘what’re you getting yourself into now Julian’?
I tried to deny it, I tried to belittle it.
Fuck it! ‘yeh those young shits have morphed me from Keith Richards to Bill fucking Wyman in one short visit’!!
But I knew in that moment, this long suffering and supportive girl was already history.
I knew my world had changed
I smoked the rest of the joint that Jaime and Murad had politely declined, then nervously waited the arrival of the posse of mates that filled my room each night after the pub.
The social dynamic was about to change.
Back in 1994, mobile phones were mostly toys for power brokers and people, who had a certain and sometimes questionable angle on ‘cool’…,
Anyway, I didn’t have one, nor did any of Marion.
The instruction I was left with was:-
We’ll pick you up at half ten Monday. . . .