Going with the Flow

“Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?” – St. Paul, Epistle to the Romans.

 

 

          What an exhausting day!

 

*

 

            It started badly. I was hung-over as hell. Last night we did the ‘S Club’ adventure which pretty much consisted of going out to the cheesiest club we could find, which turned out to ‘Hombres’ off Oxford Street.

            We got utterly wasted, in the spirit of the place, and then Ed went to the DJ around midnight and requested ‘S Club Party’. The DJ complied and we lost it on the dance floor going crazy to the track out of some kind of deluded belief that it was all somehow important.

            Ed’s dancing somehow got him picked up by some random girl I hadn’t even noticed. The last I saw of him he was being dragged off. Looking over his shoulder he shouted, “The next song, Tom!” before disappearing.

 

*

 

            So it was that around midday today we found ourselves heading out to Camden to do the next quest: ‘I wish I was a Punk Rocker’ (the disco remix) by Sandi Thom.

            I always secretly fancied trying a punk or goth look, but I’d never have lived it down – what would my friends and family have thought? Today the Pixies of Fate had decreed I do it; who am I to argue with their whim?

            Between us we each bought a long black leather coat, black trousers and black boots. We both gelled our hair into makeshift Mohicans. Ed sprayed his hair with temporary red paint and I did mine in green. It must’ve looked awful but there was something quite exhilarating and empowering about the misdirection and anonymity of it. After all, who’d have guessed that I was a barrister! I must admit, Ed wore it well. He has uniquely dark grey eyes and an almost natural Victorian-Gothic look to his features.

            At the end of our transformation we took a walk around Camden market testing out the feel of the look. It was incredible to experience the sudden perspective shift. Everyone treats you differently. You’re suddenly part of a totally different sub-category of human beings. People that would normally ignore you suddenly nodded out of respect and those who would usually have comfortably stood by your side at the bar kept their distance and glanced side-long out of weakly concealed curiosity: what kind of man dresses that way?

 

*

 

            We walked past a store playing ‘No Phone’ by Cake.

            Ed looked at me and grinned.

            “What?” I asked.

            He began rifling through the bag he’d been carrying that contained all our spare clothes. Eventually he located my trousers and took out my mobile phone.

            “Er…” I started, then paused to watch him. He removed the back and took out my SIM card. “What are you going to do with that?” I asked.

            Without warning Ed threw my phone into the canal. I gaped at him in disbelief.

            “No Phone.” He said.

            “You fucking bastard. Why didn’t you throw your own in?”

            “Okay.” He replied. He took his own phone out and started to remove the SIM.

            “No, hang on. Don’t do that, it’s just stupid.”

            “No no, I’m with you, it’s only fair. It’s a shit phone anyway.”

            He threw it in the canal. Some passers-by looked at him as though at a lunatic. He laughed maniacally.

            “Come on then, let’s go buy some new phones.”

 

*

 

            We obtained some new handsets from a local Carphone Warehouse. My old one had been good. I resented Ed for throwing away my phone but I couldn’t seem to express my anger. Somehow he had this self composed arrogant dominance that acted as a thick armour against reproach. If I told him how angry I was it would mean nothing to him. Instead, he’d just give me some brief lecture about the ignorant way in which I lived my life. I tried, therefore, to play along and act as though I were ‘going with the flow’.

            Ed asked the salesman to name his favourite song.

            “Roxanne, by the Police.”

            Ed instantly turned to me, his eyes gleaming.

            “No.” I said. For anyone that isn’t aware, Roxanne is a song all about a prostitute. It seemed pretty clear what Ed was thinking, the dirty bastard.

            “Come on, you pussy. Now’s the perfect time! You’re single so you won’t even be unfaithful to anyone.”

            The argument continued on the way home, Ed relentlessly pushing the idea of involving me in some sort of prostitute adventure. Eventually, about half an hour ago he finally became a little angry.

            “You can’t go picking and choosing the adventures Tom.”

            “But we made rules. We don’t do anything that could lose me my job.”

            “You won’t lose your job over this. You’re just an irrelevant junior barrister. No one cares. Anyway, we’ll hire escorts, not prostitutes.”

            “I thought they were the same thing. Anyway, I’m not doing it.”

            He sighed. His brief anger dissipated and suddenly he smiled.

            “You might think you won’t do it,” he said, “but you will…”