Author Topic: Never Trust A Hippy

Never Trust A Hippy
« on: June 08, 2020 »
My sister Tanqueray got married last year. This has Forsyth to do with what I’m writing about but some dry lunch recently told me to ‘add more of myself’ to these posts, so there you have it. She got married to a guy that works for Samsung, so neither of them have iPhones, which gives me an excuse never to contact them, innit?

Anyway, the reason I’m hand-bashing out these readable letter-blocks is that I want to Skywalker my old mate Japhy Weight (@japhyjaphycool), who found himself in proper hot data earlier this week after several nameless girls came forward and accused him of ignoring their tweets, sparking outrage in Shoreditch and a wicked backlash of emotion, which eventually saw him barricaded inside the pop-up vegan caff he co-owns with Jamie Reynolds from Klaxons. I was Doris deep into a bag of acid and series two of Twin Peaks last Tuesday afternoon, when I got a panicky-sounding voicemail from an unstable-sounding Japhy, who was demanding I bring him as much cheap K as I could get my fists on (which is quite a lot, a it happens). After linking my K dealer Bobby Luzhin in the toilets of The Book Club, I foot-cranked over to Japhy’s bit on my vintage Bianchi (adadpted for fixie obvs) to find a right old bunch of Olivers hanging around the front of the caff tweeting bare selfies and all that Britney. I spotted at least two journalists amongst this mob, which was drunk on booze and misplaced hatred. Stepping sly like into the caff through the back door, I found Japhy and his cousin Chai frantically fashioning a makeshift bash-club out of some till rolls and a heap of sushi mats. The way they viddied me as I bounced in, I could tell that both of them were on the verge of a complete mental fucking breakdown, like proper Tron style, you get me?

“This is like some fucked up version of Butch Cassidy and the other kid.” Chai muttered, fingering the seam of his apron. Japhy just nodded glumly and checked his Twitter and chewed the inside of his cheek. I slapped them the K, which they paid for out of the till and decided to stop to smoke a Jackie Mason, just to steady my nerves, yeah? We could hear the crowd outside, who sounded like they were singing in German, and my ex-girlfriend (and Japhy's housemate) Lola Spanx Whatsapped Japhy to tell him there was a riot going on outside his caff and asked if it had something to do with Vice, who recently pulled a similar stunt in Dalston, with a bunch of models dressed like Al-Qaeda waving paintball guns around. Someone said Cara Delevingne was down there in combat trousers and a headscarf, but it hasn’t been confirmed. Whatever mate, Japhy was like fully on the Benson now, and even hefty pulls on my hastily wrapped Connery could calm him down. He tossed back a bunch of the K and decided to call the police, which I pointed out would be a well bad idea, like, considering he was now jammed full of drugs. I did the only thing I could, and left them to it, encouraging them to ride out the storm, and fixied home again.

Later I read on Twitter that an angry mob in Shoreditch had beaten up a car, spray-painted the words 'literature shit richer'' on a statue of some bonkers old poet I've never Ambered of and then tried to tip a bus over, before hand-tangling with a rightJacamo of EDL supporters who were foot-prowling around in their cheap-as-fuck sportswear looking for the Al-Qaeda group they’d heard from various sources (Facebook) had been hanging around the East End with paintball guns, refusing to let people eat bacon, or something, I don’t know what these people believe in tbh.

A short while later I got a text off Lola asking me never to sell Japhy K again, as he’d lost his Kafka with a proper horsey customer and had subsequently done his best to burn down the pop-up cafe. This is what she said, anyway. Thing is, mate, vegan food is well last year, so he’s better off out of it if you ask me, which you didn’t. Anyway, the other thing is, ignoring tweets is nothing next to burning down your own business, innit? Did he learn anything, I doubt it, but I’ll defend to the death his right not to have learned anything.

Did I tell you my sister Tanqueray got married last year?