Same old story

‘She ain’t listening, J.’
(Chuckling) ‘They never fucking do, Ed!’

Same old story.

Earlier that Saturday, I met with Edward in Holloway Road to do some jamming at the music studio. As we had still an hour before the studio let us in, we made a stop at the Coronet for some pints on the terrace out the back – just a chat and some beer before jamming.

Edward and I talk a lot. And when we’re not offending each other, we talk so much crap: frustrations about work, inconstant ambitions, questionable people, troubled relationships. Life. Oh, and of course, music and latest concerts. Then he always ends up mentioning something about Metallica and wanting to hustle me into one of their concerts – which I would only attend for the company. 

‘Fuck off you phat ass! I’m not gonna go see that shit!’
‘You are shit, you disgusting cunt!’
Yeah, we kinda love each other.

At times, it takes me a while to understand what that motherfucker is saying because of his baritone voice and that articulated West Midlands accent. Other times, my vocabulary just sucks and I’m missing his words. Not that me being Italian makes it any easier for either of us – like, me getting lost in my own concepts, him trying to shape words out of my mouth. 

All in all, no matter the context, the culture, the language, we seem to really understand each other pretty well. He’s a good listener, and I think so am I. Maybe boys got it easy, or maybe we have a natural empathy and we feel we can figure each other out at our deepest. Unless, he starts speaking some undecodable slang that OF COURSE I’M NOT GOING TO UNDERSTAND, YOU PUNK-ASS!’

So after the studio session, we dropped the music equipment at my place and headed to the Finsbury Pub – the one right opposite Manor House station. Good company, live music, beer barrels. 

Nobody can ever say that we are not social people and up for partying. So as the bands were done, we started dancing to the DJ’s music and interacting with the other people around. Actually, Edward was the one who bumped into an interesting conversation, that went more or less like this:

Edward: ‘Did you like the bands?’
Girl: ‘I’m Dutch.’

E: ‘What are doing in London?’
G: ‘My sister is here with her boyfriend, but she’s Swedish.’

E: ‘Are you enjoying the DJ?’
G: I love this venue!’

E: ‘?????????’
G: ‘@..%<~#\$!)’

Back to the beginning:
‘She ain’t listening, J.’
(Chuckling) ‘They never fucking do, Ed!’

Folks, same old story. No matter the context, the culture, the language: boys and girls will never understand each other.


The Britalian Post