Last blow out.

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Stuff

Like I said in the ‘about’ bit (at the top), I just got this job for a mental health agency in Gaza. They think I’m a doctor but I’m not, I just changed my first name to Doctor. It was easily done.

I’m going to Gaza to dry out for a bit – it’s very conservative and hard to get booze – and because I want to see what’s really happening over there.

Anyway, the Israelis have already started to piss me off and I haven’t even got there yet. They haven’t approved my security clearance. I applied 10 weeks ago and it still hasn’t come through. Every time I phone they tell me to call back the next day. They’re polite though, I have to admit that.

They tell you it’s sufficient to apply for security clearance just 10 days before you want to travel, so I don’t know why it’s taking so long in my case. The  people who answer the phone at Erez – that’s the crossing – don’t have access to any information. They’re totally useless, but very apologetic.

Anyway, if clearance doesn’t come through soon, then I’m going to try to enter Gaza from Egypt, over the Rafah crossing. I would consider going through one of the tunnels, except I think I’m too fat and might get stuck.

Because of the delay, I’m still here in London. I went to a wedding on Saturday. I wore my old morning suit – the tails and the baby-egg blue waistcoat and the itchy trousers which have soaked up quite a few spilled drinks over the years and now smell like a pub. I ended up at a party in some trendy apartment near Old Street. There was a bath in the middle of the of the bedroom, just standing there by itself. During the glory days I’d have pissed in it, just for fun. But not now. Doctor Shusinksi doesn’t piss in a bath tub, freestanding or not.

Because I’m not in Gaza yet, my abstinence hasn’t officially started. Plus I needed to blow off some steam about the whole security clearance bullshit. I had a few drinks, then a few more. Then I tried to get some of the sweet brown, but there was none  at the party. So I left and found a homeless guy and told him that if he set it up I’d buy him a baggie too. We met his friend who was called Littl’un, then Littl’un made a call and then we walked for ever to a housing estate up by Kingsland Rd.

The dealer sent a minion down first, some skinny black kid in a wife-beater. He must’ve been really high, or on some Brazilian favela trip, because it was damn near freezing outside but he was just shooting the shit with us in his little wife-beater and not cold at all. Then the Boss-man came down and he was a sight: massive black dude, cornrows, wearing a black suit with a black overcoat with one of those fancy Astrakhan collars. And a lot a lot a lot of gold chains. He saw me in my morning suit which was really pretty out of place in that shitty estate, but he was a gentleman because he said, Sir, that is a very elegant suit, I do like to see a well-dressed man. And I said, Why thank you Sir, allow me to echo those sentiments. Then we shook hands and he slipped me three baggies and I gave one to Littl’un and his pal and we were all smiling because it was a job well done.

We left the estate and to celebrate Littl’un pulled three cans of Special Brew out of his backpack and I walked between the two of them. It was busy on Kingsland Road, being a Saturday night, and people stared at the fat man in the morning suit with the two tramps, all three of us sucking on Special Brew and grinning from ear to ear because we had the baggies in our pockets and knew we’d shortly be tasting the sweet brown sugar.

I went back to the trendy party and smoked the brown in the empty bathtub. It was good stuff and I ended up dreamy and itchy the way I like it, but that security clearance better come through soon.

Littl'un's buddy, I can't remember her name.


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