£20 Don't Come For Free

This morning Andy kicked Michael out of the flat. Michael is this guy with a creepy-ass grin, apparently he's from Russia, but I'll believe that's true if you can prove to me that's where bad people come from. He's one of Andy's lackeys, the guy follows him around barely saying much and smiling creepily when spoken to. And he nods WAY too emphatically. I dunno man there's something about that dude that really bums me out. Andy is growing on me though, especially since I started writing about him and thinking about him as a person.

Fuck. Am I a sociopath? Eugh anyway...

So today me and Andy went for a beer down at some sketchy-as-hell “East End Boozer” called The Kingsland, where the bartender was this huge, potbellied loud-mouth I'm assuming had tattoos, not because I remember seeing any, but because it would fit. The guy was slapping glasses down on the bar and shouting, and he got into it with some hunched 70 year old guy, they insulted each other for 30 seconds and then started singing an old British song I've never heard of.

To be honest I do love a filthy pub on its own intriguing merits, even if I'm scarcely brave enough to go in alone, but really the only reason really that I went for a beer with Andy this afternoon at this pub was because I wanted to get £20 off of him. So this guy Michael has been staying at our house for the last few days... maybe it's a week I can't remember. He's been sleeping on a mattress in the kitchen, or sometimes in Andy's room. Often in the mornings I'll see the mattress propped against the kitchen wall with a huge Union Jack draped over it, so I like to imagine Andy makes him sleep underneath that flag to teach him about Proper British Values.

Last Thursday I had a gig in Exeter, and arrived back in London at 8:45am, got off the Megabus and went straight to work, then gigged that night, came home and went to sleep. When I woke up for work the next morning and went to the station I realized I had no money on my Oyster card for the train so had to run back home and grab my last £20 which I'd left in my coin jar. Only it wasn't there. I was in a panicked rush to not be late for work, so I burst into Andy's room where he and Michael were still asleep and begged for any money just so that I could get to work. He woke up with a look of terror in his eyes and started screaming. Hahahaha.
        “AAAAGH! WHAT THE FUCK!?? WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” He looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Also, he looked like a ghost.

I'm laughing now thinking about how ridiculous the whole thing was. Michael just sat in his Union Jack bed, but Andy got up and found me a couple pounds which was actually fantastic of him. I left and they probably went back to sleep.

Then that night Andy came to me and said that since he'd had time to collect his thoughts he realized that he'd found a £20 in the hallway the other day, and after thinking about it, it was the day after I went to Exeter, and seeing as I had no idea where my £20 had gone, I connected the dots and agreed that yeah, it was probably mine. Maybe I'd decided to take it to Exeter (I didn't think I had) and then had fumbled it out of my pockets on the way out of the house... maybe? I had no idea what had happened to my money, but it seemed like Andy was trying to find a way to give me back the £20 that I'd lost, so I accepted the story we'd both just invented together, and that would have been that.

Cut to the shitty East End Boozer, and we're drinking our pints while Andy runs me down on the latest gossip from the agency. He gets around to the subject of Michael and I really start listening; apparently that morning after some sort of factual slip – “oh yeah that... uuh... okay... so I've been meaning to tell you...” – Michael had confessed to him that he stole £400 from a couple of people after telling them they were free to move into a room in another property that wasn't actually available. So he took deposits off them both, and then left them high and dry. Andy was telling me this outraged, which seemed strange because I've heard him talk about blindly inventing reasons to take people's money before, but I guess he never fucked people out of a place to live after taking their money... Justifications, justifications.

So Andy kicked Michael out, and now told me he didn't trust him, and that “Ooooooh maybe it was him who took the money out of my change jar!?” (GASP!) Who the fuck knows man, but after asking him about 3-4 times he finally handed over £20 just as we were leaving the pub. I don't know whether we were going on the “I found it in the hallway” thing, or whether he was offering it as a “sorry for letting a thief stay in our house and probably steal your money”. I'm not sure if he knows either, but either way it was done. Done, done, and done.

I also had a great chat with Matt who lives in the room next to me about his ex, who has recently left him after six years. Apparently she's taking him back. He's 35 (ish) and they met when she was 19. I'm super happy for him. He's been here for like a month tops, and he's already getting out. I don't think I'm ready to leave just yet.

Peace, Taco.

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