It was no use, the introverted entropy had seized me, clutching my brow with hostility as though it had resented my perpetual excursions, narcotic consumptions and jovial rhetoric. Fates incessant prohibitive’s, mocking my nomadic silence and sheathed features, with my oblique complexion cursing the encroaching vibrancy of the ascending sun, shining intently through the window of my hotel room. A peripheral look to my left reveals the fragility of the still advancing morning as I recede further into my harmonious blanket of content. After a couple of hours slipping in and out of consciousness, with reticent timidity I began to shuffle from the sheets aware of the growing need for hydration. Every step becomes perpetuated by the enduring effects of last nights alcoholic excess, with every auxiliary sound crashing tumultuously against my ears. My parched lips moistened by the slightly metallic water begin to nurture the rejuvenating effects of hydration as I begin to gaze sceptically at the lethargic figure slumped in front of me. I stare at the rigidity of my features exposed by the rotary circulation of the mirrors position, refracting every accentuated pore as I attempt to coerce my follicles back into a respectable place, I feel neither contempt nor empathetic grief for my self-inflicted infirmity but exude a broadened smile of contented gratification.
Last weekend I travelled to Nottingham to celebrate a friends engagement, which also clarifies my omitted presence from my blog. Despite the already broadly digressed lamenting of the punitive intoxications, or more specifically the proceeding culmination of surplus exuberance, the penal damage was justified by the exhibited jovial reattainment. The Evening largely consisted of gratuitous expletives, shrewdly proposed business ventures discussed at length (gaming pubs) and public humiliation (namely the groom who was attired in a Robin Hood costume, glow in the dark wrist bands and a pink tutu). But most prominent was the exhibition of commemorative salutation and the occasional re-movement from specified establishments (apparently greeting bouncers with a churlish poke in the stomach is not an acceptable welcoming). Reprehensible activities aside, the miscellany architecture of Nottingham was indicative of the community that inhabitat this beautifully rustic but dynamic town. It’s structurally similar in principle to London, without the general volume of congregating antagonism generally associated with the capital, making Nottingham a prime target for unmolested amusement. Our analytic approach to the weekend started rather obliquely with a vapid desertion of loquacious refinement, as we began inflicting damage on our respective livers from a very adolescent stage and slowly deteriorated as the journey progressed, while attracting curious glances from other transients who interpreted our affable revelry as disreputable.
But gaming’s perpetual influence is never far from my mind and it didn’t take long for discussions concerning the subject to commence. Conversations ranged from the our exulted gaming triumphs, reminiscing about timelessness of Final Fight’s quality, discussing the latent gravitational rigidity when you crash in Road Rash as well as the persuasive directive to finish a race on foot, and the legitimacy of GTA V’s Game Of The Year inauguration at this years Golden Joystick Awards. The lucidity and the comfortable elongation of these discussions that we were able to express without the palpitating feeling of social exclusion was the most euphoric feeling of liberation, and one of the highlights of my weekend. Though the eccentricity of our congregation was often met with reviled, suspicious resent for our statistical expediency, that never stopped our puerile concession of frugality. The tenuous exchange of money, the marginalised infractions from individuals and alcoholic impaired larynx were nothing more than subverted repentance analysed in sobriety and dismissed as quickly as our pride. From the evening partially spent in a casino, watching the roulette’s hypnotic rotation imminently deciding the fate of far more financially endowed gamblers, to a friends vehement insistence that specified passengers vacate his reserved seat, despite him misinterpreting the numerical contrast on the ticket as his own, causing the bespoke friend to make a hasty, apologetic retreat; every segregated moment felt symbolic. And to my friend whose impending nuptials were the reason for this amiable excursion, I wish you a long, prosperous marriage and look forward to guiding your relatives to their designated seating as I take up the mantle of Usher (Yeah man!) You won’t regret your selection. Though what is it I’m supposed to do again?