07.15 BANK HOLIDAY THREAT

Evening/morning Style Merchants. By 07.15am yesterday I had received a light death threat. Driving North up Mare Street after leaving Flamingo Bonces place in Stepney, I hadn't noticed at this point was bank holiday Monday. It was super dark for the morning. Super Quiet. I gave one single hoot to single a white van in the lane in front of me at the lights near the top end of Mare. No one else around. Driver pulled off and to the side to view me as I past him by the J.D.Sports under the bridge. He strained to look at me, hood up. A black man in his early thirties, grimaced through his window. I waved and smiled to indicate was not an aggro-hoot, then wondered if my DAKS scarf tied over nose and mouth bandit-style, was looking a trifle aggy. Van man pulled in behind and at the next lights, got out, increasing my heart rate by aprox %50. He went to the back of the van to open access the doors, getting back in after few seconds. He next changed lanes to come alongside with his window down and explained that "If you have a problem with me then you're going to see New Year." He signalled with fingers, but it didn't make sense, then also explained that he was already on remand. He looked convincingly calmly cheesed-off/motivated . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okiCApJeonQ

10.15 Saturday Night- The Cure.

I elected not mention I always stay in on New Years Eve, and instead suggested my beep was in error, and really wasn't looking for a row. He thought for a moment, then told me that actually, he had a problem with me, and that I better realise he meant business, me having now 'fucked' with him just as the lights at Pembury Circus went green. Threats were delivered in an almost languid, strangely accented manner. Perhaps it was his hobby. I drove up through grey/black and brown scene of The Pembury Estate, and peculiarly cross-compared my pals recent instagram posts of their holiday in Tulum, Mexico. Maybe Tulum was actually a good place to be at this time of year.

Salvador Dali In Santa Outfit

Salva-Claus Dali, he say hey.

I steadily drove and considered options, without docking outside Lavinia Villa and revealing location of HQ. I pulled in by the Star Of Hackney Downs to let him pass by on the deserted road. He went to join in behind, so I shot back out and contemplated matters with a far faster heart beating in my Sunspel singlet. No spaces on Cricketfield , so weighed up turning options. I wished Seymour the mechanic was working. I'd have driven straight into his garage, but alas no man was about the manor at this hour. The Deserted junction now offered 3 directions. Clarence Road, used to be the proper front line in Lower Clapton. It is still one of the liveliest streets at certain moments. I crawled down it slowly like I lived there, trying to exude manor parking mannerisms and local, knowledge,  hoping he'd get a half whiff  I was embedded in the area, and leaving me alone. He steered a tiny crescent sweep into the mouth of Clarence and stopped, looked, looked, then drove off. #Phew. Trundling back to find a space, it struck me as interesting how wound up he managed to get while maintaining an almost absent minded manner. Maybe its just the time of year, or maybe its the time of Man Dems. 

Stubbs out.

Note. 48 hours later I booked a hotchpotch of last minute transport and left for Mexico. A further 24 hours later I made it to my pals in a remote paradise idyl. NYE was a pot holed road with fireworks unfolding in the distance. Told you I didn't go out. Now hidden, in remote nature reserve Sian Ka'an. There's little but a squirt of internet. 

Happpy New Era.

 

 

 

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