London 01/01/1990 2:32 am
Happy New Year!
Tonight I was enchanted by the British! My mum and I went to Carmen’s flat (Angela is staying there while Carmen is away) and we stayed there. Estela, Zulene, Maira, Angela and her ex-husband, Angela’s sister and Angela’s other daughter were there. Me, Maira, Zu and Estela were playing “Rolha Negra” and our faces were black from the burned cork. We ate and left at 11:30 to get the tube to Trafalgar Square. We were underground at midnight! We got off at Piccadilly and hugged each other. We walked to Trafalgar Square and then to Big Ben. Everyone who walked by wished us Happy New Year, and kissed us, so much fun. We were warned that people went mad, drunk and aggressive, lies! People were drunk and happy and hugging each other. The only iffy bit was some guy who grabbed me and wanted to know where I was from. I kept telling him to let go. My mum came to the rescue. When he realised he was in trouble he said ‘fuck you girl’ and as he walked away I screamed ‘FUCK YOU!!!!” and that was that.
These brits, when they get drunk they do a lot of bad things, but they also do some good things. Estela and Zu were going to Indio’s party, but my mum wouldn’t let me go, because he lives in Brixton and apparently that’s like London’s Baixada Fluminense. So we went to Waterloo to get the last tube, but we missed it because Estela and I needed the bathroom. We took a bus from Trafalgar Square, me still trying to convince my mum to let me go to the party, but she wouldn’t let me and I didn’t have any money. Ok, the transport was free, but I couldn’t defy the financial entity, the dictator. Conclusion: here I am at home.
On the bus there were some french people singing and having some banter with 2 brits, very funny! I laughed all the way home. Apart from my mother trying to control me as though I was 14 years old, (I’m 18!!!!!!!!!!) it was a good night out. My mum is getting more and more square, she used to be a lot more liberal. She’s turning into a self-righteous old woman.
In ‘87 I spent Reveillon (New Year) in a farm with Lu, Boca, Nica, Pata, aunt Jo, uncle Guilherme, listening to frogs, drinking caipirinha, in the middle of nowhere. Last year (seems like it was yesterday) it was in Araras, one of the best I had, and this year in London. Where will it be next year? I have a feeling it will also be here.
Decisions for the new decade:
MAKE MONEY
MAKE MONEY
MAKE MONEY
or move to a communist country where there’s no damned exacerbated diseased consumerism. I just want to be independent!