Saturday was a great day. Most of it went away in fever visions, but what I do remember was beyond great.
Usually, when I travel with someone, I do not make an attempt to meet all my old friends in London, but this time I traveled alone, and it was an excellent time to catch up with as many people as possible, and because of that and also other, fortunate circumstances I did.
We met in the loft apartment in
Almost all of them were there, the old gang, the squatters, artists, actors,
rebels and witches (all of the above and more), Dorothy, Ruby, Alan, Camille,
most of the adults and those who had been children more than twenty years ago.
I remember the day as a series of amazing moments. My cold didn’t seem to matter, somehow. I was ill, really ill, feverish and practically half unconscious at times. I recall the day more like a dream than physical reality, remember embraces, happy conversation and beyond great companionship. It felt exactly like the time machine it was. I had met up quite a few times with these people since we parted company in 1993, but this was one of the few times almost everyone was present.
We owned two rather small apartments in that building. One was made into sleeping quarters and the other a pure gathering space for the occasion.
I remember that there was very little of the bullshit usually so prevalent during most mundane reunions. All of us share the distaste for such superficial gatherings. We don’t need to pretend and hype our emotions. They’re there, after all this time, no matter where we are.
We spoke about old times, the present and what’s to come with equal fervor, and we lived it in equal measure, lived the present, looking forward to tomorrow.