Last week I turned 31. I had my “birthday night” out the following evening (I already posted about that here).
It’s been a long while since I celebrated my birthday, and this year I made a conscious effort to put my reservations to the side and join in.
The original plan was to have a little gathering at the flat but my living situation right now is, frankly, really fucking weird (I’m currently moving flat again for the 3rd time in 7 weeks) so instead I opted to just spend the day with Jazz. Go for a meal out, and to take some photos in the studio space I was hiring as I’d only managed to arrange access to it a couple days prior (despite renting it since mid-November) due to moving and being out of the country a bunch.
We passed the Christmas Market on the way in.
To-fish & Chips and a Pizza that I can’t pronounce followed by a banana split and cheese cake from Mono. 100% vegan. Banging.
Jazz’s ‘Pretty Hate Machine’ tee is rad.
Stephen was in the area and was considering hiring a space at the studio, so after our meal we arranged to meet so I could show him around. He also presented me with birthday bucky.
The night took an unexpected turn when Jassy, a lass who I shared the studio space with appeared moments after we sat down and got our cameras out. She initially blanked us on entering to collect some jam, and then quietly left. A few minutes later, as we were chatting about the space, came back in on some irrational power play, standing over me, saying how I “made no effort to come in and get to know us” and “this is OUR workspace, what are you doing?”, criticising me for not being around and dismissing the blatant fact that I was there to do some work and had payed my rent anyway.
I clocked that Jassy was uncomfortable confronting me, and I was almost pathetically passive about the whole thing to the point where I just handed over the keys when asked for them, and offered to leave before she demanded I leave anyway, asking me on the way out “why are you such an idiot?”.
Why I was treated that way, I have no idea. I can only assume she took some personal issue with me before making the effort to talk to me in person. Maybe it was the Birthday Bucky Stephen had brought for me. I guess I’ll never know.
I guess that’s it, really. I had a lovely birthday meal out and then went and got my arse handed to me by some jumped up irrational jam loving art-student type. I’m sure she’s actually a lovely person under the right circumstances, but coming in in full-blown cunt mode there’s somethings you can’t come back from.
On the bright side, I took some dumb photos of Jazz on the way in. The colours glaring through the wet windows were something. So here you go. Until next year.