Mutoid Waste and Missy Eliot

Ahhhh, it’s been one of those London days. The ever joyous and future Olympian Andre Williams woke me at 7am to remind me of our session at the gym at 8am. So I hauled my arse up to the gymn. The day before, he made me run three and a half miles! Yes, dear readers, yes. My legs are jelley. Ughh… today we ‘did arms’. I tried to distract him by sniggering at the bad gymn fashion on display – but young Andre is a serious man, and doesn’t let me bunk off. In fact, for making him laugh, he doubled my reps and sets.

I later met John Harris for breakfast at Gabbi’s Deli at 30 Charing Cross Road. It’s a kosher deli all writers should know about (cheap and excellent grub) and since 2006,  I have been using it as my central London ‘office’ and meeting place. (I used to use the Pollo Bar, but now its become Bistro-fied I no longer go there).  Gabbi’s hot salt beef sandwiches are legendary: I had one with a cappuciono and fresh orange juice. So – John and I are going to Cuba next month and our meeting was to chat about the trip. I’m beside myself with excitement. We will be staying in the Havana Libre Hotel, Built in 1950-something and once the poshest hotel on earth, Castro used it as his headquarters for two years post-revolution. I will be teaching creative writing to students by day, and dancing salsa an awful lot by night.

The boiler man came at 2pm and serviced the boiler for the first time in three years. It was about to explode. We found mouse droppings behind the boiler guard. The boiler man said that mice like to sleep in boilers cos its so warm in them. Glad he came. The poet in residence upstairs, Rollinson, and I have been trying to figure out how to work the timer heater thing on the boiler and have been waking up to boiling rooms the past few days.

At four-ish, I headed for Goldbourne Road to have coffee and custard pies with Donna Maclean, an artist friend whose show I missed last night. We gossiped at Oporto. Then, as a treat, she took me to the Mutoid Waste exhibition under the Westway – a quid to get in. We both loved Jo Rush’s sculptures, all made from scrap metal. I saw a fabuous (real) black pug wiggling around – wearing a glittery collar. Her name was Missy Eliot and we became friends instantly. (Pugs rock).

I walked back home from The Westway – a couple of miles. Passed a mass of police vehicles near Kensal Rise Cemetary (where my great grandfather is buried)  – big drugs bust, apparently.  

Legs are aching.

Missy Eliot made me happy. A creature, rotund, curious – wiggly.


~ by moniqueroffey on October 23, 2009.

2 Responses to “Mutoid Waste and Missy Eliot”

  1. pugs absolutely do rock! when i’m an old lady, i’m going to get one and take it for rides in my bike basket.

  2. Me too!

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