Daddy Cool

Apparently, I'm cool.

This was news to me. Despite my attempts to become part of the upper echelons of the super-cool Oxford music scene (ahem) I am fairly realistic about my general coolness status. As in, not so much.

But I was chatting with someone who IS very cool (a certain person who is sort of my boss and may be referred to as Curtains) and knows, like, everybody (parties at the after-show party with Arcade Fire and everything) said he thought I was cool.

He didn't just look at me, sigh, and say "Frangelita, you are just so cool, why can't everybody be as fantastically awesome as you?", sadly enough.

In fact, through a number of incidents mostly relating to the fact that we usually hang out at gigs where certain vast quantities of alcohol may or may not be consumed, I seem to have spent most of my time pretty much making a tit of myself. As Curtains is now permanently stationed in my office, I felt perhaps it was time to call it a day on all those heady days vomiting behind the Zodiac (yes mum, I am joking, I haven't drunk myself sick since I was about 16).

When I suggested this to him, he reacted with a surprising amount of anger and demanded to take me out for a drink on Friday night at a certain bizarre Jamaican nightspot well-known to all lovers of the Cowley Road. And when I asked him, doubtfully, why he actually liked me seeing as I generally make an appreciable idiot of myself pretty much every time we go out, he looked at me like I was a bit daft (again slightly symptomatic of our relationship to date) and said: "Why shouldn't I? I just think you're pretty cool."

I didn't really know what to say to that. So I bought him a drink instead. And, for a change, I don't think I made a tit of myself once that night. Maybe I am cool after all...

More on that story later.