Mare Street in Hackney Central is getting a facelift. About time if you ask me, between the betting shops, pound stores and hipster cafes the place is looking a bit ropey. I’m a cyclist. Road facelifts and twenty something year old cyclists (tirning most bike rides into Britney style music videos since 1992) don’t mix…… which means getting off said bicycle to navigate the narrow pavement and getting abuse from a smoking lesbian (the Marlboro variety, she wasn’t a ridiculously hot lezzer) for being “double the width” of a pedestrian (cheeky fucking lesbian, I’m not THAT wide), or staying on the bike and cycling slowly and once more receiving abuse from a homeless man (not Erol) for scaring “the shit out of him”(what a pussy)! So stay on the bike slowly in a no bike zone or get off and be twice your normal width? You can’t win. 

The theatre I perform at in Covent Garden (great back door brag there, go me) is near the Plaza. The Plaza is undergoing a facelift. Plaza facelifts and people who actually work/can navigate the streets in Covent Garden don’t mix……. Yesterday I found myself physically pushing my way through a group of millennials (they’re public enemy number one right? Easy to hate) as they had stopped and formed a human (possibly German) wall to chat and point and plot to kill the Prime Minister of Malaysia (I saw that in a film….. it’s a thing). I pushed my way through into the light (Carole Anne) and just as I did so was shoved fairly hard in the back, I ripped out my Beats wireless head phones (back door brag) to turn and advance on my possibly German, Malaysian Prime Minister killing assailant………… who turned out to be no other than my BEST friend, an Asian actress I had done Priscilla Queen Of The Desert (another back door brag) with. She laughs and comments that I pushed through the crowd like “a sassy bitch” and I have a mini meltdown about the perils of working in Covent Garden (poor me eh?!), we laugh as between our group of friends I have a ‘certain rep’ (#icallitgangsta #theycallitdiva). As continue to giggle and make our way to my theatre I look down (which is easy when you’re 70% snob) and spot a 50 euro note on the Plaza pavement!!!!!

So the universe is basically rewarding me for pushing slow moving tourists out of the way (fellow Londoners, you’re welcome). Was the crystal my spiritual (bleugh) hipster ex boyfriend gave me somehow restoring that morning’s hardships in monetary form? 

  • Body shamed by a lesbian, €10
  • Snarled at by a homeless man, €10
  • Travelling to WC1 at rush hour, €10
  • Being barricaded, Les Mis style by a handful of possibly dangerous tourists, €10

Or was it just my day? No. This was the universe thanking me for donning my white hat and being a guy for the people, fighting the good fight, pushing teenagers in the street, not adhearing to clearly marked “Cyclists Please Dismount” signs and basically stealing money from some poor (possibly geriatric) holiday makers.  You’re welcome universe. You’re welcome London. 

Upon my return to Bethnal Green that night, I unlock my bike, mount my fiery stead to find my bicycle seat broken (€10).

Karma. Bitch?



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