A promise to a friend, a restless determination, a close call and a life altering decision, a failed relationship, a mother’s guidance and the idea she seeded, a clairvoyant foresight, landing a dream job, a lone trip around a new city, a phone that doesn’t work, a friend that lacks punctuality, unpatience, and a lack of communication.
A Friday morning walk, jumping in the right train, getting off at the right station, marching to the same exit, thinking of going home without saying a word, changing my mind in a heartbeat, having the guts to ask a stupid question, looking for a second entrance, a working phone, and a free afternoon ahead. Green Park, the sculpture’s tits, fuck the double decker, Big Ben and the invisible air hostess, googling the name of that statue (it’s called Boudica), repeating directions to North Acton, and long slow goodbye at Westminster Station.
Getting your mojo back, drunk rants at nights, sleepobg in Zurich, hot tips in Kuala Lumpur, the birth of Fred, the spanish classes, the skype marathons, murdering “Las Mañanitas” on the phone, the Time-to-wake-up-pretty alarm-message, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Hola from Paradise, the useless ashtray, that birthday e-mail, the bunny hats chat, a Unicorn landing in the garden, a comeback to London, meeting 90A, the never-ending walk, a spoiled picnic, pints at an english pub, midnight kebab, a Tube ride back home, pictures in front of a purple door, purple underwear, cheap arse wine, the unmatchable first kiss, that night, the birth of the Galaxy, singing the Australian National Anthem, effing Matilda, the Aeroplane Jelly Tv ad, the nakedness of it all, my favourite mole, the red toenails, caressing in disguise the morning after, chocolate fingers, pink lady apples, the killer hangover, the one and only breakfast, a walk through Soho, cake at Princi, the massive burgers, crashing on a cafe’s corner, drinking water, saving energy, fucktardness, the playlist, and singing The Pick of Destiny.
Directions to Paris, starting a blog, a tribute to your Gramps, mine dying shortly after, the drawing challenge, missing Vintage Trouble live, the story of Carl, correcting that awful ending until you got it right, Ben Harper paintings, cockroaches pictures on a Queens of The Stone Age gig, the patts on the butt, writing arrival dates on a whiteboard, watching Spiderman fall over and over again, drunken drawing competition at The Champion, walking hand in hand looking for a Tube station, laughing at the innocent geek-looking kid on the Tube, giving me that notebook, Wish You Were Here banners on the Southbank, the Galaxy painting and the peach one you never did for me, ins and ons, mental hi fives, asking that idiot to pick a side on the airport, the note with the Daisies, Bonita and Yoda, flying on September 11, Thames Fair, hot dogs and cold beers, riding a wooden pony, buying lesbian art, Shoot You Down sharing headphones, standing on the stairs near the river thinking of that kiss you didn’t deliver, waiting for fireworks that never arrived, stopping at a restaurant to pee in the middle of the night, watching that Foo Fighters documentary, a failed Vegemite sandwich, the bedtime stories, those wings, the 16 Galactic Commandments, that colour we choose and never bought, the 100% perfect girl, and the shagging songs.
A trip to Amsterdam, cold dutch beer in the afternoon, a yellow poncho, drawing elephants, taking pictures, hide and seek in the square, gay-looking scarf, the Red Light District, conquering the Galaxy one porn shop at a time, kissing self-portraits, drunk grocery shopping, that damn blocked-crotch upskirt picture, the best train ride ever, the birth of Layla and Roxanne, Wild Pig, a morning crevasse, Ben Harper impersonations, laughing in bed until we cried, the cheeky pics, The Bedroom Philosopher, Babe at the door, the Amy painting, hair up, dead leaves in the park, the pinkish short that got lost with that dress, my first poem, my debut painting; The Black Keys, Elvis and The Stone Roses; Pirates, Kick-ass and Stranger Than Fiction, a christmas hand-writen letter, the London postcards you loved, the Galaxy in the forest, the Yes You’re a Mess but You’re More Than Less drawing, candles for Brad, sunday ritual plans, vinyl records-wine-picnic, and all the things that might be escaping my memory now… none of that can ever be put in boxes, locked down and thrown away. You know that.
But most important, no one had to work hard and give their best to make any of this work, it just did. And always will. Better than with anyone else.
That’s how the Galaxy rolls. Never forget.